


Brush The Dirt Off Your Knees

by My_Black_Crimson_Rose6



Series: RvB GTA AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguing, Bank Robbery, Begging, Bisexual Male Character, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Car Make-outs, Clubbing, Come Eating, Concussions, Crying, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dreams, Drinking, Explosions, F/M, Facials, Falling In Love, Fingerfucking, First Dates, Fist Fights, Foursome - M/M/M/M, GTA AU, Gangs, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Learning to trust, Love Confessions, M/M, Marking, Masks and Facepaint, Mercenaries, Minor Animal Injury, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past/Mentions of! Acquaintances with Benefits, Piercings, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Role Reversal, Rough Kissing, Shower Sex, Slow Kissing/Making out, The stuff with the A.I's still happen, Trust exercises, Tuxedos and Suits, Violence, Vomiting, Washington the "Cat Guy", Washington the "Trophy Husband", bed sharing, carwash siblings, they're nerds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 103,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6/pseuds/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He left it behind, he truly thought he left it all behind when Freelancer fell apart and he ran. Washington ran and ran and ran, until he could blend in and forget about everything. Where people didn’t know all his other aliases, they didn’t know the kid named David—or the remnants in his head called Alpha, Epsilon, Church, or Leonard L. Church.<br/>He was just another normal guy now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Washington was out!

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm ShadowSheyla on Tumblr](http://shadowsheyla.tumblr.com/)
> 
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> 
> Also, would like to point out before going into this that::
> 
> Dante= Sharkface (they all have aliases in this so he goes by many different names. I'll explain why I picked this name later but if you can guess I'll give you imaginary points of achievement!)
> 
> Dante is of Chinese-Caucasian descent  
> Locus & Felix are both of Filipino descent (it was either this or Puerto Rican. Other lineages will be discovered later)  
> And Wash is a damn white boy (with freckles)

He left it behind, he truly thought he left it all behind when Freelancer fell apart and he ran. Washington ran and ran and ran, until he could blend in and forget about everything. Where people didn’t know all his other aliases, they didn’t know the kid named _David_ —or the remnants in his head called Alpha, Epsilon, Church, or Leonard L. Church.

He was just another guy now, just another normal guy who carried too many concealed firearms and knives on their person. But no one but he knew about that little feat and he’d rather keep it like that.

He had blood on his hands, so much blood, and the devil licking at his heels. He was left behind when his team fell apart, when they all ran off into the wind and the twenty-three-year-old was left to run by himself—run from the Feds, at least three different gangs, the Director, and even his old friends (his old _family_ ).

He ran for nearly a year, on the road hopping from place to place with the voices screaming in his head. He wasn’t crazy, he _wasn’t_. He just... wasn’t stable.

Freelancer had fucked so many of them up, thought they’d get the up on their rivals by getting these _computer_ chips stuffed into their heads. And yeah, sure it was great for a handful of them. It worked for York and North—their little voices didn’t go crazy. Those lucky fucking bastards.

But Carolina went and got two, to prove a point or something. And Maine... shit, that one just hurt to think about. Wash would rather never think of that anymore.

Washington was twenty-four when he settled down in Los Santos. The underground crime ring in this city was insane, but it the network was huge and Wash wasn’t _looking_ to get in. He was looking for a way to just disappear—to sort out the fucked-up shit the Director’s project did to his head (and his heart, though he’d rather forget that) and hide from the man and the rest of the top ‘Agents’ of the gang that had fallen apart.

Washington was _out_.

He was out!

Out of the crime life, out of everything! Went cold turkey and adopted two cats and living in a one bedroom apartment on the shitty side of town, and not yet running out of cash to get a job.

He. Was. Out.

So he had no reason to be in this mess, no reason other than his horrible luck with cars and being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He wasn’t even run over this time! Just walking by minding his own **damn** business when these three guys come tearing around the corner with guns blazing and the telltale sign of cops yelling for them to freeze, give up, or what-say-you (he’s only guessing at this point).

Wash wasn’t really paying attention, though he should have.

He can’t really explain it either but this situation most likely was caused by a mixture of his noise-cancelling headphones, the car (again, anything with a vehicle automatically meant that Wash was in a world of trouble), and the fact that Wash was in one of his ‘spells’—the ones where the flashes aren’t bad but they’re there and he’s not completely in his own head.

Yeah, yeah.

Let’s just go with those excuses.

There was a strong grip around his torso and he was slammed into a car. His mind flashed to a memory that was neither David’s nor Washington’s and Wash was confused. His headphones dropped from his ears and his vision blurred back into focus. “Drive drive drive!” The guy beside him yelled, slamming a hand against the driver’s seat.

And that’s when Washington knew that he shouldn’t have left his bed this morning. He knew that one of these days all those _‘spells’_ would get him into trouble but he only thought that he’d get run over by a car, not stuffed into one in the middle of a firefight.

The guy sitting shotgun turned towards the back seat, his dark eyebrows drawing downwards before turning towards the driver, “what’s your reasoning for grabbing him.” It wasn’t a question; his dark green eyes stared at Wash with a steeled expression. The assault rifle in his hand moving—just a bit—drew Wash’s attention momentarily to the weapon before snapping back to the man’s dark and scarred face.

Green Eyes’ voice was deep, each word pronounced and weighted with importance. He was a man who didn’t like to waste words—Wash was reminded of Maine with that, passing that comparison quickly from his mind. His scar cut into his skin from brow to cheekbone, crossing in an uneven X over his right cheekbone.

The guy sitting in the backseat with Wash finally turned his attention from the distant sirens and towards his _companion_ (more of a seat partner than anything else) and raised his pierced brow. The pistol in his hand forgot as he reached towards his belt. His was pulling at something hidden near the back of his pants while his lips pulled up wider, “you’re kinda cute.” The pierced man glanced towards the driver, “is this why you grabbed him D?”

Wash remembered the weapons he had stashed on him. Twin pistols hooked into the back of his pants, a hunting knife tucked into his boot, the hidden blade in the toe of his right boot. _Think Wash, think_. He thought like Carolina—that wouldn’t work. He was going to think of South but she was reckless, and the last time Wash ran into her he put a bullet in her head after she had shot him in the back. So he thought like Connie.

Aim guns at Driver and Green Eyes; stick Piercing Guy with hidden blade in boot. If he missed at least he’d have the guy pinned against the door. Wash wasn’t worried about Piercing Guy—not as much as he was the guy sitting passenger.

“He saw too much,” the driver replied, turning sharply down a side street.

 _Now_ , his mind screamed at him. A voice so familiar rang through his neurological pathways as he pulled out the pistols from their place against his waist, his boot slamming against the center of Piercing Guy’s chest and stuffing him right up against the back door. His jaw grinds together when he notices the lack of blade popping out of his boot and quickly changes targets.

Wash prays that the driver keeps driving.

Something like approval sparks in Green Eyes’ eyes as he levels his gun towards him. Piercing Guy hums and Wash increases the pressure against the guy’s chest. “Now Freckles, all this is doing is going to get me all hot and bothered,” Piercing Guy grins, testing how much he could move. It’s not much, Wash has him pinned and the pistol dropped to the floor—he wouldn’t be able to reach.

Wash cocks the safety off, his gaze not leaving Green Eyes. He has the bigger gun and Wash doesn’t trust that look in his eyes, even if they’re looking at Wash with _that look_ in his eyes. It’s too focused and Wash doesn’t know how to handle it—shoot him now or wait?

“I kinda like this guy already,” the guy under Wash’s foot is talking again and he quickly throws him a glance just as he lifts his blade and plunges it into Wash’s calf. There’s too much motion after that—Green Eyes moved and now that gun is out of his hand, Wash squeezes the trigger of the gun he has pointed at Piercing Guy just he pushes the gun out of his way. Now he doesn’t have a gun and there’s a knife sticking out of his leg and a guy on top of him.

Wash struggles, he struggles despite the pain and the fact that he can’t get the upper hand—so he rolls. He rolls and the guy stumbles; the fighting is dirty and sloppy and Wash is hurting. He pulls out the knife in his boot and pitches forward when Piercing Guy jabs an elbow into his ribs. Wash grunts and catches himself as the knife goes through the driver’s headrest and he hears the man shout and curse. The car swerves and Wash leaves the knife where it is to throw a potshot, it connects with the man’s nose and he curses.

The driver slams on the breaks and Wash’s balance is thrown, the knife sticking out of his leg twisting as he slips and Piercing Guy uses that and the momentum to slam him into center console between the front two seats. Wash’s teeth go through his bottom lip and groans when blood floods against his tongue.

Wash’s arms are trapped behind his back, Piercing Guy has both wrists captured in his hand and body, and Wash’s own knife is pressed against his throat and Green Eyes has the barrel of his gun presses against his head. The tension melts from Washington’s body with a heavy sigh, he shifts and the knife against his throat presses deeper. “Just taking some weight off my leg,” Wash grunts, the blood from his lip pooling and smearing against his face.

The Piercing Guy allows the next shift and Wash doesn’t try anything, he’s done. He’s had a bad day and he’s just... done. He’s tired, ready for a nap. Done.

Washington was out. _He was out_ , goddamn it!

“You could’ve helped, Locus!” Piercing Guy hissed, catching his appearance in the mirror and glaring at the blood dripping from his nose.

Wash glanced up at Green Eyes when he shrugged. “Too much fun watching you get punched,” the guy, Locus, smirked. The driver chimes in something along the lines of _he was making sure I didn’t get stabbed in the back of the head,_ but Washington didn’t heed that. Locus’ green eyes swirling with a smug satisfaction as he caught Wash’s gaze. He tilted his head, “interesting,” the word rolled smoothly off his tongue as he arched a brow down at the blond.

The driver leaned back into his seat now that the knife was removed from his headrest. “Brandon’s dead,” and both Locus and Piercing Guy looked up at the driver. A silence fell over the car and the corner of Locus’ lip twitched and the man on top of Wash stared down at him with a wicked grin breaking out over his features.

“How would you like to make some serious cash?”

Wash’s stomach churned, and he shut his eyes. Flashes of memories flashed against his eyelids—Maine... and Carolina, York, Connie, North and even fucking _South_. Washington sighed and opened his eyes, “do I have a choice?”

The knife digging in a little deeper and the sudden twitch in the man’s lips above him spoke enough weight on the matter.

“I’m going to need to have my leg taken care of,” he stated. The sinking feeling in his gut grew.

“We’ll take care of that,” the driver replied.

Washington was _out_.

He sighed heavily, “fine.”

Washington was back in.


	2. Washington was back in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have like 10k+ already written for this that I'm going to be posting as my friend and I quickly go over some big edits (I have exams and this fic is keeping me sane).   
> So bare with me while I go over and break this baby up into some nice clumps.

They had dragged in a chair for him to sit on after they took care of his leg. The stitches in his lip pulled uncomfortably and he couldn’t help but constantly poke at it with his tongue. His leg tingled as the foam they stuffed in there before stitching it up expanded and started to quicken the healing—thank you advanced medical technology! Sure, his leg will scar and it’ll take at least a week for the skin to fully return to his suicide run days but he’d take it.

And that’s how Wash started this heist.

The three men were quickly going over what their next plan of attack was while eyeballing Wash, who kept staring at their assortment of weapons—they had searched him upon their arrival and kept his weapons.

“You really do have freckles everywhere,” Felix grinned, his pierced tongue peeking out between his teeth as his hazel eyes swept over Wash’s back. Wash pulled the buckle tight and raised brow over his shoulder at the pierced man.

They had gone over a quick introduction, a point-and-name kind of routine... until it was Wash’s turn that was. He shrugged and told Felix to call him whatever they wanted; Freckles or whatever else would cross his mind. That didn’t go over very well and Wash relented and muttered a, “just call me Leo.”

Out of the thirteen aliases (twelve now, he burned through one to the point of being completely and utterly worthless to him now) that he had set up since he was twelve; Leo was always the one that he hated the most. Too close to another name.

 _Leonard_ —it echoed somewhere in the back of his skull, taunting him... always taunting.

The man who introduced himself as Dante pulled his signature shark jaws helmet on and Wash could see why Felix calls him Sharkface. With the matching tattoo on his chest and the helmet the man kind of walked himself into that name. Dante paused as he was pulling on his jacket; Locus paused in his own redressing and took in what caused the other man to stop.

“That looks like a gang tag,” Felix sneered, crowding towards Wash in an effort to make out the marking on his pectoral. The blond quickly threw on his shirt and glared at the tanned skinned man, Felix backed off with a lazy raise to his hands.

The rest of set-up was quick and silent. They chose Wash’s new weapons for him, and by weapons they gave him compact assault rifles and a pistol. “You’re driving,” was what Locus told him and Wash frowned. He took the weapons and quickly stuffed three grenades in his jacket pocket just as Sharkface was flicking off the lights behind him and showing him out the front door.

-xx-

They were stealing two Insurgents, one mounted with a turret. Wash gripped the wheel with white knuckles, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain as a bullet pierced through the back window and dug into the dashboard. Felix and Sharkface were in the Insurgent with the mounted turret and Wash was starting to hate them for it.

“ **Take that you fucking assholes!** ” Felix’s voice shouted over their com system and Wash hissed. He could hear the turret from both the feed and ahead of them. There were helicopters firing and armored cars and Locus wasn’t taking the cars down fast enough.

Why the hell were these people making the smart choice and going after the car without the giant gun? Wash hated it when people made the smart choices in these situations.

“I thought you said you were a great shot!” Wash snarled back at the man firing out of the broken window in the back. Washington thought that these things were supposed to be bulletproof or at least able to take a couple of hits before the windows shattered. Guess they got a hold of it before it was completely armored up then.

Locus snarled angrily and turned his attention to the armored truck closing in on their right. Felix roared in his ear, “ **Awwww Locus are you having performance issues buddy? Is there something you want to share with the class, man?** ”

Sharkface’s laughter joined in and the feed exploded with added noise from the turret he was firing.

When the car pitched left, suddenly threatening to spin off the road, Wash swore, “Fuck off with that!” He was swearing a repetition of three swears as he pulled one of the grenades from his pocket, pulled the canary yellow bandana down around his neck and bit the pin.

 _One. Two_. He dropped the grenade out his broken window and counted— _three. Fou—_ Boom.

The cars lit up and crashed in a chain—driving too close to each other and when one went and reared to the side it took another... and another. Locus stared at Wash sharply in the rear-view mirror and Wash shrugged, “You weren’t killing them fast enough.”

Felix was crackling like a jackal in his earpiece, “ **I like this guy. How about after this I rock your world baby?** ”

“You stabbed me today,” Wash stated, glancing back at the three remaining cars riding his bumper. “How about after my leg heals I’ll not return the favour?”

“ **Oh c’mon Freckles don’t be like that,** ” The car Felix was driving reared off the road and he cursed, “ **Fuck it, going off-road!** ” he snarled and Sharkface just shot the last chopper from the sky.

Locus leaned over Wash’s seat and held his hand out, “give them here.” Wash handed the two remaining grenades over wordlessly and returned his attention to the road in front of him. His ears perked at the click and he saw Locus chuck the ‘nade out the back window. He pulled the pin out the next one and chucked that one out the back too—the explosions sounded and Felix was crackling in his ears again.

“ **Let’s just bring these things in** ,” Dante yawned and Wash could see him duck back into the vehicle.

-xxx-

The man known as Agent 14 stared at Wash as he patted Felix’s shoulder, “our other guy got shot in the head getting those cards so we brought Freckles here in. He’s a better shot.” And that was it, the man only known as Agent nodded and that was it.

Wash flopped back into the backseat of the car and closed his eyes. Dante was pulling off his helmet as he pulled out of the rendezvous point. “So what’s your Freelancer name?” the man called back to him. Wash caught the twitch in the corner of the burnt side of his face. Locus rolled his head towards him on his headrest, his mask lay crumbled in his lap. He looked comfortable, not remotely surprised by the name. Though Felix turned in the front seat and stared back at Washington with a creased brow—he was taking him in, different than the flirting or how he was in the car earlier today.

Wash rubbed at the scars dug into the back of his neck, his fingers trailed down one of the grooves that trailed around his neck and under his jaw. “Washington,” Wash replied, closing his eyes again.

Felix moved; climbing over the center console and flopping back into the backseat between Locus and Wash.

“Well I can certainly see this name,” the dark skinned man leaned forward. The tip of his hair hanging past his eyebrows, stuck to the sweat that had gathered under his mask. The dyed black hair sticking up from the top of his head and staying up, despite all the moving around he did. Wash noticed the dark brown roots growing in while they were getting ready, and the fuzz growing in the parts that was shaven off to form his undercut.

Felix’s fingers smoothed over Wash’s jaw and Wash could only peek an eye open at the touch. He was _tired_. He manhandled the blond, pushing his face to the side to take in the scar on his brow. “Hey Locus, looky here.” Locus leaned over the smaller man to get a look at the scarring that he was pointing out.

Locus trailed his leather-covered fingers over the long-healed wound, following the line down until that ended and continued on downwards anyways. His fingers pushed up on Wash’s chin, tipping his head back as he got an eyeful of his scars. He traced over wounds and Felix leaned in, “someone try to claw open your neck there Freckles?” Locus scowled at his long time partner for blocking his view. He took his hand away and settled back against the door.

Washington grunted, shutting his eyes again, “there’s a possibility.” And Felix only hummed, running his hands over the scars that Locus had discovered. The smaller man leaned in until his breath blew hot from his nose. He could feel the faintest touch of Wash’s jaw against the tip of his nose and he grinned, he grinned and leaned even closer—

"Guys I would suggest that you stop feeling him up while he has an assault rifle pointed at Felix's dick. Though, I personally won't care much... but," Dante glances back at them in the rear-view mirror.

Felix quickly pulls away and glances down then quickly back up at the blond who throws him a tired lopsided grin, "you're lucky I don't have an itchy trigger finger." Felix rolls his hazel eyes and detaches from the blond—he wasn’t giving up but postponing this until later. Wash was starting to pass out and that wouldn’t be much fun at all.

“Hey Washington, where are you sleeping tonight?”

Wash’s head jerked back upright and he blinked owlishly up at the man driving. He quickly glanced towards Locus and Felix, “shit.” The blond man pulled himself up until he was no longer relaxing against the seat, “drop me off at 1880 Perth Street.”

Felix hummed, “isn’t that on the shitty side of town? Why is a pretty thing like you holed up in a dump like that?” His head thumped against Wash’s shoulder and the smaller man went limp, spreading out and getting comfortable sprawled all over him.

Wash eyed him, the changes in his actions confusing him—like he couldn’t make up his mind if he should fondle Wash or not. It would be slightly funny if he wasn’t still untrusting of the man and he wasn’t about to fall asleep any moment now. “When you want to disappear it’s not advisable to go out and buy the biggest or fanciest of things.” Felix huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Lame!” he drawled out, putting more of his weight against the blond’s side. The rest of the car ride back into the city was quiet, the radio softly playing some profanity riddled song that Felix moved his lips along to. Wash’s head slowly started to fall left, his cheek pressed against the top of Felix’s head. The black locks tickling his nose and the throbbing in his leg only a slight nuisance—“so you’re a snuggler, Washington?”

Wash grunted, a mixture of _shut the fuck up_ and _I caught what you said but I don’t care enough to waste the energy to actually say something_. His head was starting to ache again; a tingling sensation spreading out from the base of his skull and up— _Epsilon isn’t plugged in. It’s gone. You’re Washington and you’re in a car._

The car slowed to a stop. “This the place?” Wash sat up and squinted at the buildings outside the car. Yeah, that was his apartment alright and now he was starting to just come to enough to realise that he just informed them where he lived. Shit.

“Yeah,” Wash sighed, pushing the car door open and slamming it closed behind him. He limped away from the vehicle and cursed at the pins of pain spiking up his leg—he cursed at Felix and his day and just his luck in general.

“See you tomorrow Freckles!” Felix shouted behind him. Wash pivoted around on his good leg and flipped him off. The pierced man cackled before rolling his window back up as the car sped away.


	3. Flirting Should Be an Occupational Hazard (that and scarred men cuddling cats)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mittens falls in love with Locus and the boys steal a Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as edited as I'd like but I have an exam in a few hours and I really want to post this. (We're now also halfway through the document that I have written so far.)  
> Also worried Felix makes me coo (and laugh madly). They're all just so 'protective' of their Boo.  
> (I'm very tempted to have that turn into a running gag "protect the Boo, Love the Boo")

It was late. Wash had slept most of his day away after waking up sometime a few hours after crawling to bed to throw up—the dreams were bad. Flashes of Freelancer and Alpha and Leonard Church reel in his mind and he wakes with a silent scream building in his lungs and acid creeping up the back of his throat.

Some nights he’s not able to even make it to the toilet to throw up, but where ever he makes it to it’s always the same. He empties his stomach until all he could muster is a pink foam wheezing out of his throat. Today was a good day, he made it to the toilet and didn’t spend a solid hour hugging the porcelain throne that he has to clean daily—if you even up sticking your head in it almost nightly you want to make sure you’re drowned in the scent of cleaning products then the alternatives.

Washington falls back to sleep after brushing his teeth and his cats spend the next thirty minutes head butting him in their cat kissing ways and kneading him in an effort to plump his muscles up into a comfortable pillow.

The cats help when he wakes up—after the interruption but he doesn’t count those as actually ‘getting up’. He wakes up most days trying to figure out who he was... _is_ , sorting through the memories of four different people—Leonard Church hates cats, and Alpha (or Church) hates them too. Epsilon has no memory of them so there’s not much to fight against with that identity. And David—Washington, well, Washington is the one that loves cats.

Some days are harder than others to figure out who he was ( _is_ ). He had many names that he goes by and he’s been hiding for a solid year, using different names in an effort to just... disappear.

Sometimes he thinks his name is Daniel—that’s the name that he’s signed this lease with. Daniel Washington. It was so close to who he was that he both hated and loved it—loved it because he didn’t even _think_ before answering to the name at times, and hating himself for it.

Sometimes he took the name Matt—that was the name he got his phone under. Mathew Thomas. Mathew was Maine’s name; it was a name that Wash would forever remember. That one ached, and made his breath catch painfully.

Some days he was Leo (he hated this one because it reminded him too much of Leonard), or Ryan, or Cain, or Adrian, or William, or Gregory, or Tyler, Dylan, Seth, Mitchel, or Andrew.

And of course there was Washington. He was Washington most days—every day since getting this name. He liked it. It was better than David. David _Church_. David was a kid; David was a younger brother and a kid with a crooked grin and too many freckles. David was a crime lord’s son who looked too much like that man’s dead wife. David was a kid who tried to walk in shoes too big for him to fill—David was a kid who tried too hard to keep his elder sister from falling apart and who worried too much for the father that cared nothing for him.

Washington was the guy who still had enough heart in him to goof around. Washington was an ex-freelancer. Washington was the one that got even the great Leonard Church—the great and feared Director—to crack a rare grin when he got the footage from one of their heists (the one where Wash had to jump from a skyscraper and screamed at four-seven-niner when she had to chuck a car onto the building. It was a confusing day). Washington was the one that was underestimated; Washington was the ‘team player’.

Washington was the one left behind, betrayed and shot in the back.

Washington was the man that broke and was trying to piece himself back together.

Wash... Wash was the one currently grumbling to himself as he buttoned up his jean with a towel quickly thrown over his head with water still dripping from his hair and down his chest. The knocking sounded again and he hissed out a, “one second holy fuck.” The white and black tuxedo cat trailing behind him as he rushed to the front door in nothing but a pair of jeans and a towel.

He throws open the door and glares at the... four people on his doorstep. The girl flushes, mouth open as she stares openly at the water dripping a trail down his neck, chest, and stopping at the waistband of his boxers. The three others, unfortunately familiar faces, stare without any hint of fluster.

Wash suddenly wishes he grabbed a shirt... or at least a bigger towel.

The girl swallows, “uh... y-your friends here said that they—” she trailed off when another water droplet caught her attention. Wash’s neck was heating, spreading up to his ears then to his cheeks—shit, this was embarrassing.

He held the door open and pointed to the collective unit of the men, “get in.” Felix grinned pierced brow waggling at the force carried behind Wash’s order. The three men pushed their way past Wash and stepped into his apartment. “Thanks Leshawna—tell your grandmother I said that I hope she’s feeling better,” and promptly closed the door before she could ogle him any further.

He flicked the deadbolt into place and sighed. He was going to regret ever showing them where his apartment was, he knew it.

Washington sighed slowly turning to face whatever it was that now greeted him in his apartment. “So what—” the rest of the sentence caught in his throat. Felix was studying the photos Wash had framed, his nose two inches away from the photo as he tried to spot which on Wash was. That was the Freelancer picture, the one with all their helmets on, and if Felix could point him out right this second Wash would be honestly surprised.

But that wasn’t what stopped him dead.

No, it wasn’t even Dante seated on the couch with Wash’s big orange tabby (Tigra) spread out over his lap and the man petting the feline’s belly. It was Locus and _Mittens_ , Mittens the cat that wasn’t fond of being carried and the one that didn’t take well to strangers. Mittens was putty in Locus’ arms and _purring_ , his black and white furred body like liquid in that man’s dark skinned arms.

 _God damn it Mittens you were supposed to have my back_ , Wash couldn’t help but think of how stupid it was to scold his cat for liking someone.

Locus caught his gaze and his green eyes flashed with something—bashfulness? Was that a flush tinting those deeply tanned cheeks? “Cats are intelligent animals,” the man replied twitching his fingers in Mittens’ fur. Wash pulled the towel over his face in an effort to stop himself from smiling.

He scrubbed the towel over his face and hair, pushing it back to drape around his neck. “We’re stealing a jet tonight.” Washington froze not believing he heard that right.

“What?”

Dante removed Tigra from his lap and stood, “we’re stealing a jet tonight. There’s an EMP that we need to pillage from it. The ship is passing just a little ways out from the coast so we need to strike tonight or we miss our chance.” Felix grabbed the framed photo off the wall and joined the rest of them by the couch.

“That’s all nice and such but I have a bigger issue,” Felix held up the photo and pointed at it, “which one is you?” Wash shook his head gathering the towel from around his shoulders and throwing the wet cloth at the smaller man. Felix exclaimed when the cloth connected with a loud wet _slap_ and again when the picture was plucked from his grasp.

“Maybe after this job is over with I’ll show you,” Wash leapt out of the way when the towel went sailing back his way. “If I don’t stab you that is,” he added as an afterthought.

-X-

Stealing the Hydra wasn’t the problem he was worried about. Locus was already in the air and Felix had just taken off in his jet after him. “I’m not getting in one of those,” Wash fired two rounds into the man popping out behind some barrels. Wash was wearing a helmet this time; it made the communication come in clearer over his ear piece.

“ **What the hell?** ” Sharkface, always with that name on the job nothing else, shouted. He had just left the landing strip to join Felix and Locus in the air. There were jets inbound to their location and they still need to escape with the damn Hydra.

“I can’t fly,” Washington answer unloading his clip in another man and quickly ducked behind his own collection of barrels to reload.

“ **You have to** ,” Locus countered. There was an uptick of emotion in his tone when he addressed the blond.

“ **You can come ride on my lap** ,” Felix flirted. That’s what Wash was going to call it now. Everything that that man said or did was flirty. He flirted with his knives, even with a damn coffee mug in his hand.

“I’ll take my chances with the boat.” They had _parked_ (Wash uses the term park very loosely) the speedboat they rode in on near the back of this ship—Felix had beached the damn thing onto the actual boarding deck like some reckless idiot—and diving from this height was still looking like the better opinion between that and flying a jet. “I’ll take the jets out on deck and make my way to the boat, see you guys at the rendezvous point.”

“ **Goddamn it Washington!** ”

Wash ignored the chatter and pulled the rocket launcher from his back—he had to fight tooth and nail for this thing and he was going to damn well use it—and pointed at the oil barrels between two fighter jets. He knew that this might end poorly for him but he did it anyways.

The drums of oil blew taking both jets with it and sailing sideways into the jets beside them. It chained, like some morbid domino effect that had the child in Wash giggling and jumping for joy. Hey, he was always a boy who loved action movies and explosions and right now... well, right now he was kinda living in one. He loaded another rocket and took aim towards the jets that didn’t light up in the first shot.

_BOOM!_

“Have I ever mentioned how giddy I get at explosions?” he chuckled ducking back down when shots started pinging in (and off) the wall behind him.

“ **No, but go on. I’m going to store all these away for when I have to woo you**.” Felix again. Wash glanced up when the sky exploded and metal and fire rained back down onto the deck. “ **Did that just hit the ship?** ” Wash didn’t answer, too busy loading in his last rocket and listening for the pause in gunfire. “ **Hey Freckles you still alive down there?** ” he called, the guns of his jet going off in Wash’s ears.

Wash sucked in a breath through his nose, holding it in his lungs. “ **Hey blondie!** ” Felix called again. Wash crept from his collection of barrels and towards the ones closer to the back of the ship. “ **Washington!** ” Wash poked his head up and fired towards the barrels that the firing squad was taking cover behind. Their shouts of alarm and pain could be heard from his side of the deck and Wash quickly tossed the rocket launcher from his person and made a dash towards the edge.

“I’m fine; it landed on the opposite side of the deck. I’m diving into the water.” Washing didn’t _dive_ per-say. It was more of a jump and a sudden realisation that he might have made a mistake. He knew that it would be a long fall but it didn’t piece together until right that moment. The “oh fuck” that escaped before impact was also not intentional.

That last _Oh Fuck!_ Was the last thing the air team heard from Washington before the blond made impact and his communications flooded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, kisses are coming next chapter and I'm going to just sit here and laugh while you have to wait for them to show up (I'm a horrible person I know)


	4. Of Cold Spoons and of Bodies Sliding Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of sharing food, swapping spit, and someone looses a shirt in a car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just finished my exam (and made it back home). Woooo~ Thanks Neri for reading over this while I was out and about!!

Wash was moist and there was water in his boots. The woman who served him his ice cream lived on the floor above him in his apartment complex and she was eying him with a confused but slightly sad look in her eyes. He had ditched the gloves and jacket he was wearing shortly after he returned to land, and then the helmet a few blocks away from that but still he looked waterlogged and kinda miserable while enjoying his butterscotch ice cream.

His hair pressed flat against his head and the phone that he had stored in a plastic bag earlier today was thankfully undamaged on the table beside his bowl. The woman took a seat across from him in the booth and crossed her arms over the table. “Need to talk, sweetheart?”

Wash brought another spoon full of ice cream to his lips. “Not really,” he shrugged.

She raised a groomed eyebrow at him, “well you look like you’ve been caught in a storm and honey, it hasn’t rained in weeks.” Wash sighed; he knew that would get him a few questions asked. “Go to a party? Get ditched by a girl? Grandma just get run over by a car?”

Wash shook his head—nope, haha no, and nope. “Took a tumble and got drenched is the closest answer I can give here,” he smiled apologetically, gathering the last of his ice cream onto one big spoonful and shoveling it into his mouth. “Plus, I’m really in the mood for ice cream and you guys have one of the best butterscotch on this side of Los Santos.”

The woman laughed, “Well that we do sweetheart. I’ll go get you another one?” Wash nodded, pushing the bowl towards her and keeping the spoon pressed against his tongue. She raised herself from the booth, past the counter and into the kitchen.

Sherries & Flo was open a full 24 hours on Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays and while Wash felt bad for being in here on a... now Thursday morning at 3AM getting nothing but ice cream, he was jonesing for it and he knew for a fact that he had no ice cream hidden in his freezer.

The phone and the table vibrated and the default ringtone sang—“hello?” Wash answered, taking the spoon from his mouth and holding it between his middle and ring fingers.

“ **Where are you and what are you doing?** ” Felix sounded smug, like he had a little spring in his step. The job must have finished without any unexpected developments. But, then again Felix did have that characteristic that would enjoy a flare of the unexpected just so he could smother it with his dramatic flair.

Wash had a number of choices to choose from—so many in fact that he was at a momentary lost as to _how_ he should answer. Should he be a little shit? Should he tell them the truth? Should he lie? Oh, what about just having them dig for a little information? There were just too many possibilities and Wash was feeling a little _giddy_ right now! “Eating ice cream.”

“ **I—uh—** ” the mental image of Felix pulling the phone away from his ear and checking if it was the right conversation brought a smile to his lips. “ **Ice cream. Why are you eating ice cream?** ”

Why does a person eat ice cream? “Because I can and I want to?”

There was a heavy sigh and a, “ **Where are you?** ”

Now this Wash chuckled openly at, “Sherries & Flo on the corner of 4th and Welling.” He got a grunt of acknowledgment from the man and heard him repeat the address to the car. “See you soon then,” Wash added, spotting the woman carry out another bowl and a pastry. Wash quickly hung up and returned the device to the table.

The woman returned to her seat across from him and pushed his bowl over, “don’t tell Flo but I’m totally jacking one of these pastries.” She winked and proceeded to stuff half of the thing in her mouth. “Ughhh, so good!” she smiled, cheeks puffing out and flakes of the pastry stuck to her lip-glossed lips.

Wash shook his head, smiling at the woman. “So just a warning then Jill, but some _friends_ of mine are dropping in—it might get loud,” he scooped up a fair amount of ice cream and plopped it in.

Jill shrugged, “beats studying for finals.” She stood, wiping flakes from her hands onto her apron. She stopped mid-dusting her cheeks, “wait... are these friends, or are these _friends_?” she waggled her eyebrows.

Wash shrugged, “well they’re pleasant to look at.” Even with the scars on Locus and the burns on Dante, Wash still had to admit that they were still attractive. The scars did nothing to hinder Locus’ aesthetics, if anything it heightened the whole look he was going for—was it even a look? He wasn’t sure with the shoulder length hair that fluctuates between going up in a quick ponytail and down. It wasn’t like Wash had many opportunities to see the man outside of heist situations. And yeah, the look certainly fit with Dante—what with all the flames in his tattoos.

Jill winked, “Well then! I guess I’ll have to go back to studying. Call me over if you need me Wash.” Everyone in his apartment complex knew him as Daniel Washington, it was simple and while he didn’t expect to grow into the ‘darling of the building’ he did. The elderly ladies would gossip about him and ask him to help them with this, that, and the other thing—and to either take them or their daughters out... and in some cases their granddaughters out.

It was embarrassing but still strangely heartwarming.

Wash is a quarter of his way through his ice cream when Felix pushes in through the door with Locus and Dante behind him. “Wow, you look like a sad sack of shit, Freckles!” he exclaimed and Wash could only stare up at him with a raised brow and his spoon sticking out of his mouth. “Eating your ice cream by yourself and looking like someone kicked your puppy. Jeez, Wash!”

Locus takes a seat right beside Wash, trapping the blond into the booth while Felix is ushered to the other side by Dante. “He’s been pouting the whole time,” Dante smirks, “’why do we have to go to him?’ and ‘why didn’t he answer me?’ and of course my personal favourite ‘why won’t he just let me make out with him?’ It’s funny.”

Felix snarls.

Locus’ leg is flushed against Wash’s under the table and the warmth leeches from it and to Wash—he shivers. The man stares, taking in clothes that had finally finished drying off and the blond hair pressed and dried flat against Washington’s head. Locus tsked, peeling off the leather jacket that he grabbed and wore during the heist and draping it over Wash’s shoulders.

Three big things happened at that moment. The first was Wash’s cheeks flared up in a deep pink blush high on his cheek bones—the type of blush that he’s been told made his freckles more pronounced and made him seem younger than he actually was. The second and third happened a beat after the first. Jill had begun to snicker loudly behind her counter, her dark blond hair splaying out along the countertop as she hid her head in her arms. And the other thing—well the other one affected three different people.

They stared; they stared and Wash’s blush only continues to spread under their gaze. He repeatedly stabs his ice cream. “Stop staring.” They don’t. They don’t stop staring and Wash doesn’t trust himself to look up to see where they’re focusing.

He never really noticed much about his companions, he hasn’t really had the time and he didn’t really _want_ to take the time to. He gathered that their physical appearances were attractive, but the less Wash took in the easier it would be for him to shoot them if they did anything fishy—they didn’t exactly meet under the best of terms, and sure they were starting to grow on him in a way that only being thrown together with someone in dangerous and dumb circumstances tended to do, but it didn’t exactly mean that he wanted to make it an everyday occurrence to meet up with them and do... whatever.

So when tanned fingers reached out and stole the spoon from Washington’s grasp he noticed for the first time that the man’s nail beds were surprisingly well groomed. He wore two thick bands around forefinger and ring finger on his right hand, middle and ring finger coloured in with pumpkin orange nail polish. Felix spooned a huge chunk of ice cream from the bowl and stuffing it quite uncaringly into his mouth. It’s then that Wash notices the lip ring on the right bottom corner—Wash had originally thought the black stud to have been a mole or some other sort of marking but today the stud was replaced a black ring.

Huh.

“Why are you eating my ice cream?”

Felix waggles his pierced eyebrows—three on the right and two on the left—as he licks the spoon. The ball of his tongue ring clicking against the metal as he licked it clean.

 _Please, please—_ he wished that the ground with just open up and swallow him whole. But as Dante stole the spoon away from Felix and proceeded to join in on the stealing of Wash’s ice cream with a glint in his brown eyes that was just _too_ similar to the one that would cross Felix’s, Wash knew that there was no hope for him now. He’d have to crawl or climb out from this booth—but not yet. There was still too much ice cream left and Wash wasn’t paying to just leave a fair bit of it left.

“Give me that,” he sighed, taking the spoon from the man when he went to grab another spoonful. Wash threw a pointed look at both men sitting on the opposite site of the table—in which Felix winked back at him and Dante only smirked—before pointedly spooning half of the remaining ice cream onto his spoon.

It never did make it to his mouth.

Cool fingers wrapped around his wrist and guided the frozen treat Locus’ mouth. He was close, his chin just barely touching Washington’s shoulder and... Wow, yes those eyes were certainly green. Green like the pine trees found out in the west coast that Wash remembered growing up in for a time—it rained for weeks straight and the trees were always just so _green_.

The back of his neck was hot, and he remembers the licked clean spoon clattering to the table—he heard the _ting-tink_. He _knows_ he heard that but his mind was just stuttering, gears grinding together as he tried to process what it all meant when Locus was leaning in with a smirk tugging on his lips and Wash’s throat felt tight.

And that’s when he felt it; lips pressing against his and it... it was nice. Wash hasn’t been kissed since his time in Freelancer and even then it was awhile. It was rare after Maine got Sigma implanted, the A.I program _changed_ _him_ and Wash could tell that there was a lot of things that the man was protecting him from with that A.I. But... that was a different time and with a different person.

So he closed his eyes and kissed back—a kiss was a kiss and Wash _missed_ kissing. He missed the feeling of another person’s lips pressed against his, the slide of tongue, the knocking of teeth—pulling on lips. And that’s what Wash did, like remembering how to ride a bike after years of walking everywhere. He was hesitant, not sure how the other man kissed and Wash never did have a particular type of kissing he preferred, only opening up when Locus swept his tongue passed lips and teeth.

He was a slow and firm kisser. He slid and pressed his tongue against Wash’s and Wash pressed back. The blond turned into his partner, wrapping his hand around the back of Locus’ neck in an attempt to pull him closer—he wanted him closer, _so much closer_. But they were—why wasn’t he closer?

No wait.

Fingers were carting themselves through Wash’s hair, pulling—gripping—tugging. _Oh fuck_ , Wash wanted him closer—still wanted him closer than this. He threw his other arm around Locus’ neck just as he snuck a hand up the back of Wash’ shirt. The man’s cool hand a welcome temperature—

_Oooh!_

Wash pushed away from him—or at least, was able to remove his lips from the taller man. “Public, we’re in public.” And that seemed to snap Locus back into himself—his confused expression shifted into understanding, then quickly to annoyance when he caught Felix grinning.

“My tu—”

“Oh my god Washington! Just go home and take your boys with you. I don’t want to have to explain tomorrow why the dinner smells like sex!” Jill called from behind her counter, her textbooks open on the same page it has been since Washington had walked in. Her smile obvious as she continued to point at the door, “go blondie, before I tell all the old ladies in our building that you like both guys and girls.”

Wash stared at her, not quite believing that she would stoop that low. She looked at the door, then back to Wash—oh she would. Wash pushed at Locus’ shoulders urgently, “go go go.”

-Xxx-

Locus hadn’t requested his jacket back and Wash wasn’t about to give it back. He wasn’t about to give back in the dinner or when they left and he certainly wasn’t about to give it back now that he was pressed against the door of the car the three men had driven over here with, with Dante’s hands hoisting Wash up by the back of his knees and his teeth pulling his bottom lip out.

Dante wasn’t a man who kissed a lot but when he did rough and a little sloppy—his hands exploring and daring and Wash couldn’t think of a reason to argue when teeth and tongue worshiped his jaw then down his neck sucking on scarred and freckled skin.

Wash pressed their lips together again, dragging both palms up his neck over the burns on his cheek and up into his messy black hair. Wash pulled, taking a fist full of those surprising soft locks and pulling back. Dante groaned, mouth open and Wash flicked his tongue against the back of the man’s top row of teeth. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbing, “I want to fuck you _right now_ ,” he growled, making a move to bury his face back into the crook of Wash’s neck and shoulder.

Felix slammed his hand on the hood of the car, “hey assholes! Let’s stop the foreplay and get in the damn car.”

The backdoor bumped against his leg when Felix threw it open. “I suggest that you sit up front with me. Felix and Locus might just get a little handsy,” he whispered in the blond’s ear.

“I don’t think a seat’ll stop Felix.” Wash licked his lips, checking to see if they were bruised—they felt like it.

Dante shrugged, setting Wash back on the cement, “I’ll get some fondling in while I can then.” He winked, honestly winked, brushing his thumb against Wash’s chin.

He shook his head, licking at his lips again and pulling the passenger side door open as the Chinese-Caucasian man rounded the car to the driver’s side. Yeah, it took awhile to place but in that lustful declaration the accent was hard to ignore. “Suuurre, D.”

Dante winked again.

And true to Dante’s word as soon as he started the vehicle his hand settled high on the blond’s thigh, fingers toying with the seam running up the inside of his leg. The only thing being said (or asked) the whole car ride being if he was going home that night or not—Wash was and he didn’t care if they thought they were joining him or not (they weren’t) but that last part was for him to know and for them to kindly assume and make an ass out of themselves.

“Okay, fuck this!”

They were criminals; they had just stole a Hydra from an aircraft carrier, it was ass crack o’clock on a Thursday morning, and just glancing back in the rear-view mirror Wash could see two semi-automatic pistols in the backseat. It was safe to say that as criminals they did not wear seatbelts (again: late and on the night of a heist. Laws don’t exactly matter).

So when Felix found a way to both jump into Washington’s lap _and_ tip the seat back, Wash quite nearly had a heart attack. But he was fine— _fine—_ the car was still on the road and he didn’t somehow get run over by anything. In fact that was still his seat pressed against his back and those were rings on those fingers holding Wash’s head.

And yup—this was now going to be three-for-three.

Felix was all tongue and teeth—toying and teasing, prying and searching. He was everywhere and nowhere. Wash _hated_ these types of kisses. Hated them because they were both fun and frustrating and in an effort to mould his own kissing style to his partner’s he _did the exact same style_.

Felix inhaled heavily against Wash’s cheek when he weaved his fingers through dyed black locks and pawed at the back of Felix’s pants. “That’s what I’m fucking _talking about_!” Felix exclaimed, a bubble of laughter building. The pierced man grabbed the hand tangled in his hair and guided the appendage down his chest to his belt buckle. “C’mon baby,” he purred spurring forwards and grinding their crotches together and licking a strip up Wash’s neck.

The car stopped and Wash noticed the street—this was the curb right outside the side entrance to his apartment building. This was also the side with the balconies and where that Creeper Victor lived (his favourite past time being ‘people watching’ at ass o’clock at night).

Wash groaned, hissing when Felix pulled back Locus’ jacket and the shirt underneath to bite and suck a huge mark on his collarbone. The blond ground up, gripping the man’s ass with both palms and flipped their positions. “This works too,” Felix grinned, not skipping a beat and wrapped his legs around Wash’s waist. The jacket he borrowed quickly found its way chucked back into the backseat then followed by Washington’s shirt.

Wash pulled his face away and panted, feeling a pair a teeth that certainly weren’t Felix’s (who’s quickly attach themselves to his neck) nipping at his freckled shoulders. That was Dante—he bit a lot harder than Felix and he liked to pull at the flesh. He’s going to be _soooo_ bruised in the morning.

He needed to get out of the car now before he _wouldn’t_.

He should—Locus leaned in, sealing their lips together for the second time that night and Wash’s arms almost gave out.

They buckled.

They buckled as Dante slipped a hand down the back of Wash’s boxers and grabbed a handful of ass.

They buckled when Felix finally unbuckled the blond’s pants.

They buckled when Locus pressed his tongue against Wash’s.

His arms might have buckled but Wash did not—he told himself that he wasn’t going to go home with them. He wasn’t. He was still mad, his leg was still injured, and he was still unwillingly dragged back into this crime life and he wasn’t about to make things easy.

Washington didn’t _like_ no-strings-attached fucking. He _hated_ casual fucks.

So when he pawed at the door handle and found the door unlocked, he popped the door open. No one stopped what they were doing and for the first time in a _long time_ Wash felt like he was a badass. So what he did next was both extremely embarrassing and still _extremely cool_.

He threw the door open and somehow was able to remove himself from three different sets of hands (and in Felix case there was some legs involved) and ungracefully removed himself from the car—almost losing his pants in the process.

“Goodnight!” Wash called, grabbing the corner of his pants and fishing his keys out the back of them as he ran for the door.

“What the hell Washington?!” Felix called from the car and despite everything that told Wash to just ignore the three men in the car and just _go home_ , he turned around with the side door of his building pressed against his bare back and grinned.

His lip stung and he just noticed the blood dripping from his chin from his stitches. “I’m still pissed at all of you!” He then made a point to push the door closed behind him while they watched on from the car.


	5. A Little Bit Broken, A Little Bit Odd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes, the world continues on how its always been. And Locus... Locus' new obsession (crush) is showing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops?  
> This is the last of the pre-written stuff so now its the mission of mass writing again! Wooo!!   
> I can't wait to finish this canon heist (for the GTAV online universe) and then I get into some plot stuff for this... and of course the relationship stuff ;)  
> Wash is still mad at these guys for dragging him into the mess and that's not going to change for awhile so I need to plow through this to get to the fun stuff!

He woke with a ringing in his ears and his heart in his throat.

He dreamt of fire and screaming—of pain, so much pain. There were faces. Faces turning, walking away. Everything was burning and they were just walking away—leaving him there.

 _Leaving him there_.

The man pushed himself up, feet chilled on the wooden flooring and blankets pooling around his waist. He could feel fur brush against his spine and whiskers pressed against his arm. His throat felt raw, like he had spent the last hour screaming—or in the best case, sleeping with his mouth open.

It was better to the alternative—better than rushing to the bathroom.

The man stood, fingers scratching at the top of the orange cat’s head as he passed the bed and made his way from the room in nothing but a pair of boxers.

He was sore, energy building under his skin like he needed to go—he needed to run and just _go_. But he hurt. He hurt and he had no idea why. Why did his lip sting? Why did the skin of his calf feel pinched and sore with each step? When did his shoulders, back and chest ache?

He didn’t want to see. He couldn’t bring himself to check.

The man kept a corkboard up across from his room with a big piece a paper reading **_AS SOON AS YOU GET UP TAKE YOUR MEDICATION_** and a calendar pinned up beside it.  

The man padded out of the short hallway and into the room housing both his living room and dining room, he ignored it and turned left into the kitchen. A sticker labeled **_MEDICATION_** told him where to reach and he pulled out a collection of five different pill bottles. He didn’t check the names on these bottles—a voice in his head told him not to.

In the two big containers he pulled out one pill each, then from the remaining three containers he grabbed two each. He returned the bottles to their drawer and pulled a glass from the drying rack and filled it with water.

He popped his pills back, took a swing and then another for good measure.

Now he was ready to face the bathroom. He sucked in a sharp, deep breath and made his way back down the hallway and instead of turning right he went left. His stomach fluttered, he exhaled. Holding his breath and quickly shutting his eyes the man stepped into the bathroom and towards the mirror.

He opened them.

He noticed the scars—they were everywhere. The man ran a finger over the scar over his brow that disturbed his blond eyebrow, following it down to the dent in his flesh right under his left eye—another scar. He smoothed a hand up and felt the texture of his skin, the bumps and indents. He ran them up into his blond—wheat-coloured hair.

He took in the blue-gray of his eyes, the bags under them from not sleeping properly in years. He brushed his hands through his hair and down the back of his neck—stopping to feel the scars. His fingers curled and dragged over them with some unknown memory. He noticed the scars on his hands—the ones traveling down over his chest and pressing against tattoo on his pectoral.

**FREELANCER**

He sucked in a pained breath—faces flashed in his mind and he whined. Faces turning away—fire, blood. Death. Gone. Gone— _they left him to die_. He snapped his eyes open again, slamming his fist against the countertop.

Go over the scars—he brushed his hand up his arm. Blue-gray eyes snapped back up to the mirror and he quickly focused on the healed and ruined flesh marring his chest and abdomen. His ears stopped ringing but his head played a new soundtrack.

_Washington!_

_ALLISON!_

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING WASHINGTON?!_

_Allison—Allison—Allison._

Guns went off and explosions—so many familiar voices, so much yelling. Anger, pain. Desperation.

The man pulled at his hair, breath wheezing out in quick pants. He needed to stop, he needed to focus back on the feelings—the sights that were there _right now_ , not the memories.

_I remember. I always remember._

Blue-gray eyes snapped open again and he forced himself to focus on the aches. That was the current—that happened recently. He found the first pain quickly; his stitches in his lip had been pulled and blood stained his mouth.

He frowned.

The man continued on to the next abnormality—a deep purple bruise. He leaned towards the mirror and spotted more—oh wow there was a lot more. A LOT more! One on his jaw, another right under his left ear, another on his shoulder, three down his neck on the right, and five littering his chest—and those were the bruises, there were _bite marks_ thrown in there too that he didn’t count.

Those were hickies—those were hickies and _bite marks_.

And that’s when Washington sucked in a breath and cursed, “assholes!” He pawed over the marks and turned in the mirror to get a look at his back—yup there were some nice claw marks on his lower back. He glared at them; _they didn’t even DO anything!_

Felix did that because he was a prick—“asshole!” Wash cursed again as he left the bathroom.

-Xxxxx-

His phone went off shortly after the sun went down— **Meet @ my apartment.** Wash pressed the power button, tossing it back to the coffee table in front of him and sighed. Scratching the back of the tuxedo cat’s neck, Wash stood from his couch with a groan and a roll of his shoulders.

It seems that he was needed at Locus’ for the next part of their job.

-XX-

Remembering was what Washington did—it’s what he always did even back in the days he was David. He could remember the most ridiculous of things: dates, favourite animals, random facts, if someone wore their hair up or down that day that he saw them last. The old ladies in his building _loved it_ , thought he was so incredibly sweet for being able to remember them mentioning being out of sugar and then returning from his run with a big package of it.

Also didn’t help that he would help them with carrying in their groceries, even if he was leaving the apartment—this part drove some of the other tenants _mad_ (their girlfriends or parents turning to them and asking why they couldn’t be like Washington).

He remembered their health troubles and always made a point to make sure that they were doing well—asking how they were, if there was anything he could do to help.

Wash remembered so much and that’s what ultimately drove him to the point where he could hardly remember who _he_ was, wasn’t it?

 **I’m here buzz me in**. He sent the message and the front door quickly buzzed—like some robotic bee on crack—and he entered the main lobby of the building.

It was a nice place, classy—everything bright and mostly glass. It was well maintained; the plants out front, the floors shining and shoes _scweetching_ with each step. Though the elevator took its sweet time reaching the ground floor and when he did finally get in it was a long trip up to the twelfth floor.

Turning down the hallway to his right and continuing around the bend till he reached door 1203 Wash raised his knuckles to the wooden door and knocked. The door pulled open and Wash quickly dropped his hand back to his side. “So where’s everyone else?”

Locus led the way down the three stairs to the main sitting area of his place, the door closing behind Wash on its own. “They’re coming in an hour,” Washington stopped when man turned leaning back against the back of his cream couch. “I wished to discuss a few matters with you,” the man crooked his finger, beckoning Wash forward.

“Oh?”

The blond stepped forward—Locus held himself differently at that moment then he normally did. He was leaning just a pinch forward, one shoulder dipped lower than the other. His finger twitched against his jeans. Wash smiled, he was going to reach to grab him—pull him in. Wash spared him the energy and took another step; now between the man’s knees and tipped his head.

Fingers brushed up the back of Wash’s neck, “I should apologise for this morning.” His fingers traced over the scars of his neck, dipping down to his shirt collar. “I’ll be lying though,” his voice dipped and Wash couldn’t help but suck in a breath.

The blond licked his lips, swallowing thickly when green eyes followed the movement. “I don’t like meaningless sex,” because that look that Locus was giving him was hungry—so incredibly hungry and _he knew_ exactly what path that look would lead him down.

The look in his eyes softened, head tilting—his eyes closed when their foreheads touched. “I want to pull you apart and piece you together again—see just how much freckles dust over that pale skin of yours, if you have any scars that I haven’t see yet. _I want you_ ,” his breath puffed out hot against Wash’s heated skin. Green eyes still closed and that angular nose pressed against Wash’s. “I want to figure out just what goes on in that head of yours.”

Washington swallowed again, “you might not like what you find.”

The man huffed and pine green eyes opened, staring back at him—searching, piercing. “Oh you have no idea,” he grinned sealing their lips together and Wash’s knees buckled. He fisted the dark gray tank top in both hands, pressing himself against the other man.

Locus’ hands heavy as he pressed—slid them up from the blond’s neck. He held the man’s head in his hands, kissing him with too much emotion—too much, _too too_ much for Washington to even begin to understand.


	6. BOOM goes the helicopter as it falls from the sky, FUCK screams the blond as blood drips from his arm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys steal a Valkyrie... there's some complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annd there's going to be blood in this chapter--and murder.

Everyone had a job. Locus would be flying Valkyrie with Felix riding as co-pilot and operating the gun there while Wash and Dante took the side guns (both Wash and Dante perked up at the word Minigun). As the group sped up to the location masks and helmets were pulled, “I’m just going to drive as far in as possible.”

Sharkface drove—he always drove unless some sort of large weapon needed to be pointed at someone. Wash had learned on the long drive over the reason behind that. Felix had a _very heavy_ lead foot, and a bad case of road rage. They only put him behind the wheel when the vehicle was incredibly large, didn’t matter if they destroyed it, and they could kill as many people as possible (normally while the other two were in their own car far away from him). That, and the fact that Sharkface’s primary weapon was between a flamethrower and a minigun.

Both of those are stowed away in the trunk of one of his many cars in some garage somewhere. “I’ll show you after all this is finished,” and not a hint of flirting in his tone as he had voiced this. Felix had leaned over and confirmed that the man would most likely spend the whole time buried under a hood of one of his many vehicles and only emerge if one _suggested_ strong enough. He said this with a dip in his tone and a waggle of his pierced brows. “You assholes have been dragging me on job after job for the last two months! Who the hell fixes all the cars that you crash? Who drives 97% of the time? That’s right, shut the fuck up!”

It was an interesting drive over the docks, that’s for certain. There was a thorn prickling at the three men and Wash starting to piece it together—unfortunately for him. He had a knack for picking up things about others; growing up with his family and having Maine as a partner (even before his... accident) did tend to build these certain skills.

They didn’t trust each other enough. There was a familiarity in how they held and presented themselves around the other. A trust formed from working a long time with the other but _something_ kept them from not tilting their head to get a glance behind them when someone would cock their gun.

Dante was a little easier; he didn’t seem to have as many experiences with them. Maybe two-three years, maybe even a rocky start before a partnership was struck with the other two mercenaries.

Though Felix and Locus... now that made his tongue taste like copper and ashes, the smell of smoke gathering in his nostrils. That partnership of theirs was long, solid—they’d hand weapons to the other without a word of acknowledgement towards it. Yeah, Washington was _very_ familiar with that one. That thorn was caused by a betrayal.

He felt the same thing with Freelancer going to the shitter—when South shot him in the back... when Maine shot him in the chest (again, again, again)... when _his own sister_ left him to burn.

Felix and Wash ducked down in the back seats just as the car sped through the barricade and over a body. The sound of bullets pinging off the car and shouting started shortly after, “so this is a throwaway car right?” Felix called out to their driver.

The front passenger window shattered and Locus hissed, firing from the broken opening. “Yes Felix, it isn’t bullet proof,” the tallest man out of the group replied and lurched painfully against the door when Dante pulled the hand break. The car slid—drifting around the parked vehicles and slamming into some poor asshole. Dante quickly shifted gears, cranking the car into reverse and the men sitting in the backseat spared a long heavy look at the other before gathering their guns and started their firing.

The chopper was nearing them on the right, the driver getting as close as possible to the pilot’s side as possible before nodding to Locus. “Felix and I will go around,” Wash patted the driver’s shoulder and the man nodded.

Stepping out of the car with assault rifle raised with his finger on the trigger. Wash fired two burst shots into the man’s chest before moving to the next target and repeating. His legs moved under him, carrying him around the car—his arms tensing under the kick of each fire. He was around the chopper now, gun still raised and half in the chopper as he fired the last of his clip into his target.

“Get in the chopper Freckles!” Felix shouted slapping his palm against the glass. Wash took his seat; bullets bouncing off the metal of the helicopter became to ascend. With shaky hands Washington buckled the harness and clutched the minigun mounted into the helicopter. Behind him Dante—Sharkface— fired, a bullet piercing a gas tank of one of the many cars and it blew.

The man’s laughter quickly interrupted by Locus, “company inbound.”

“Three choppers—two are on your side D!” The sound of the minigun going off behind him made Wash sit up straighter. He couldn’t see what was going on and the communication between the four of them was going to be trouble. Only Locus and Felix had any earpieces up in the cockpit, if there was anything back here with Wash and Sharkface (that name still difficult to refer to him as after having his hand down the back of Wash’s pants) to use they didn’t exactly have the time to locate it. “Lo, sweety, pumpkin—my main man—WHY THE FUCK--! No! IS THAT A FUCKING MISSILE?!”

The Valkyrie lurched back when Locus pulled sharply on the steering. This so-called missile—yeah that was a missile and it roomed past the opening of Wash’s side as Locus turned harsh to avoid the fire of another chopper. With a target in sight Wash was finally able to begin firing.

“How the **fuck** do you work this gu—oh got it...” Felix’s voice trailed off under the constant rounds being fired by both guns. Wash snarled as the enemy chopper flew just out of his sights—BOOM! “SUCK IT FUCKERS!”

It seems that whatever gun Felix was trying to get up and running was working. About time too, Locus wasn’t keeping their Valkyrie at a decent level for Wash to get a clear shot. “Turn it, turn it! Its going under!” Sharkface snarled from the other side of the hull and Wash was ready.

When the blades of the helicopter appeared just in Wash’s line of fire he took the shot; firing round after round until the blade started smoking and it spun—spiraling downwards in a cloud of smoke. “Two more incoming!” Felix shouted firing at the last remaining enemy aircraft before it was joined by others.

The two helicopters advancing quickly, their guns whirling to life—“get into my line of sight asshole!!” Felix shouted from the front and Sharkface’s gun still pumping out rounds after rounds.

The line of fire from one of the incoming aircrafts arcing up towards Felix’s side of the helicopter, “Locus! Locus move this thing!” Washington shouted at the pilot, the damn man wasn’t listening and Felix was still shouting—still shouting at the enemy pilots and also at Locus.

“Move to the right—no the other right!”

The sounds of bullets digging into the Valkyrie’s hull; Wash started firing back—still out of his crosshairs. “MOVE!” Washington snarled up at the pilot and an explosion lit up the world behind him. “LOCUS MOVE THE FUCKING HELICOPTER!” And the copper dove to the left just as the glass on Felix’s side of the chopper shattered and a pain blossomed up Wash’s dominant arm.

Like a punch to the chest Wash’s breath caught in his throat and his grip on the gun faltered. He doubled over—gripping, holding. He clutched at the pain in his left arm—warmth, slick warmth oozed through his fingers and dripped from his hand.

_Fuck._

His mind flashed—fire, ash. Burning, so much burning. Pain—shouting, pain in his back shooting up from his side up to his shoulders.

The world exploded and Wash could hear shouting—joy, these shouts weren’t in his head.

_These shouts weren’t in his head!_

His left fingers tingled and the blood was still pooling out, dripping from them and onto the metal floor. There must be more than just the two he was covering—did they go through the vest? Wash couldn’t spare the second to check.

The blond straightened— _you’ve been shot worst than this_ , he kept repeating to himself. He’s survived multiple gunshot wounds—his been shot in the chest, in the back, and the thigh. The arm is nothing— _it’s nothing_. He’s just not used to it anymore, _you’re just not used to it_ —he sucked in a breath and pulled the straps off.

If he were to pass out he’d rather do it _away_ from the open doors of a helicopter. Preferably where he could glare at the side of Locus’ face in a silent but obvious “this is your fault” message being conveyed.

He’s been stabbed and now shot because of these three. What next? Get run over by a _fucking car_?

Actually... he wishes that thought never crossed his mind. It was his luck with cars that might be the reason as to why he gets flattened by them (again) and he didn’t need to spur them on or into any sort of anger.

He stumbled, falling to the floor and cursing at the feel of faintness. Yeah, there was more than just two holes through his arm—maybe they went straight through. It would explain why he’s losing this much blood.

He felt a pressure on his chest, “Washington?” it was Dante—Dante was pulling off the blond’s mask and tossing it up to the two in the cockpit. Wash couldn’t hear much the man was saying over the sound of the chopper blades but he could feel the man checking him over give pause when he found the bullet wounds. “Shit Washington why didn’t you say anything?”

Yeah, Wash heard that one. The blond hissed increasing his pressure on his arm, “I did.” Washington cursed when the larger man reached the other side of his arm and _pressed_. Yeah, that was the exit wounds alright.

“Felix!” The man leaning over Washington shouted, “Get your fucking ass back here!” Wash was dizzy; he never did well in the air—four-seven-niner was always teasing him about his airsickness.

_I can’t believe a Freelancer gets sick in the air!_

He clenched his eyes shut and groaned when he felt someone bat his hands away from his wounds to get a look at it. “You’re not having a good week are you sweetheart?” Felix’s tone was soft—softer than he’s ever heard before and Wash hated not being able to hear the full range of that tone with the blades going off overhead.

“I’m blaming Locus for this one,” Wash replied. Something was being tied tightly over his wounds, the fabric—it felt like fabric—cutting into his skin and circulation.

Felix chuckled; tying tourniquet and nodding to Dante to wrap his over hand over the other side of Wash’s wound. “Glad to hear that. Hey, you still mad about that whole knife to the calf thing?”

Wash’s eyes opened, “I will slit your throat.”

Felix grinned, throwing a look at Dante. “He’s still mad,” the man in the helmet nodded, “well at least he’s mad at Locus too!”

-XXxx-

Agent 14 watched on as two of the men carried over their newest member to a well lit place on the property with a bottle of vodka and a medical kit tucked under the smallest man’s arm. The pilot stood next to him watching his partners get the blond ready for some back-wood’s medical procedure.

“We ran into hostiles,” the pilot explained in that deadpanned tone of his. Agent 14 nodded in understanding, this business saw to many deaths and wounded. That man would be as good as new with some painkillers and a few hours of sleep. “This won’t be a problem,” the pilot—Locus—explained.

Agent 14 knew this. The injured man had just pushed his companions away from him after the one with the combat knife cut his shirt from his chest, taking a huge swing from the bottle before pouring a fair bit over his wounds with a visible hiss. That was the actions of a man who’s been shot worse than this and just needed a moment to gather himself.

“The EMP is ready for delivery,” Agent 14 replied.

He continued to watch the blond as he took the needle from his partners and began to thread it through his flesh. He’d stop and glance at the man Agent 14 knew as Felix and he’d cut it and restring the needle again. The blond would take another swing from the bottle and when the needle was back in his hand he’d continue. There was a hesitation in the man with the shark helmet before his injected the applicator to that healing accelerator foam—the blond quickly stitched up the last of his wounds after that.

“Go take him home to sleep that off and pop some pain killers,” Agent nodded towards the blond man and the man beside him nodded.

-XXxxx-

Getting Wash in the car was easy. The blond had flopped in the backseat and voted Felix to sit back there with him. The blond had then pawed at Felix with an “I don’t care if you fondle me but I’m using you as a pillow”, and Felix didn’t hesitate to throw a toothy grin up at the men in the front two seats.

“I’m the favourite now!” He grinned wrapping his arms around the blond and place a loud wet kiss against his forehead. Wash huffed, burring his nose under the tanned man’s skin and mumbled something slurred (from the pain, blood loss or the booze... no one knew) and promptly fell limp in Felix’s hold.

“That was a shit show,” Dante spoke up punching the power button off. “This whole heist is a piece of shit—how the hell do these sons of bitches keep finding us?”

It was annoying, “I’m with D on that one. This Agent asshole rubs me the wrong way and if it weren’t for the pay or the fact that he’s going to _add_ us to the list of names that can get these _great_ vehicles we’ve been stealing I would gladly remove his head from his shoulders. But, y’know... killing clients isn’t the greatest for business.”

Locus rubbed a palm down his face and sighed, “It might be that woman. But,” that single word caused Felix to deflate. There was always a but in these situations— _always_. “If either refuses to pay—or is _late_ —“Felix grinned at the suggestion.

Late always meant hours—the pair worked in _hours_.

“You’re not going to complain this time at the blood?” Felix was rewarded with blissful silence, he could kiss the man. He kissed Wash’s blond head of hair instead. Oh Felix hoped that these idiots were three hours late in their payment, he had _so much_ pent up frustrations to work through!


	7. Just Another Shitty Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash has another 'episode', the guys learn a bit about Freelancer, and the last of the set-up is completed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter than the others but this part of the heist is just very shitty (ugh stealth missions!)

His ears rang, head swimming. Every morning, every morning the same—something in the back of his head called, that voice dripping in venom. _Wake up every morning to either vomit, or ash, or ears ringing_. The hand nudging his shoulder snapping his consciousness awake—he was up in a blur of motion, leaping from the couch and away from the hand.

His heart pounding in his ears, throat tight as he stared at the three men gathered around the open living room. He glanced between them; something familiar about them, that he knew them but he _didn’t_.

He didn’t... what?

Trust them? Know them?

“Hey Freckles,” the man who woke him stepped towards him, hands raised palms forward in an effort to show him that he meant no harm. He didn’t believe the man—he stepped back, slowly backing away from him, away from the burned man on the couch and the other man behind the first.

They were staring at him, staring at him like something was wrong—yeah, he didn’t know who the fuck they were, who they thought he was, and he was shirtless and woke up on their couch.

“Wash—” That flashed some mental images and the man hissed reaching up to clutch at his head. His arm hurt—fuck did his arm ever hurt!

_You were shot._

_Two bullet wounds to the left arm—through ‘n through._

A hand brushed the man’s hand away from his face—it was the man with the burns. “Washington,” his tone soft as he gripped his face in both of his large hands, thumbs running over his cheeks. “Your name is Washington though you allow us to occasionally call you Wash. You were a member of Freelancer, a gang station along the West coast.”

He stared up at the man, soaking in the calm tone—the images creeping over him. A street—a corner store where a guy older than him was sitting on the hood of his newest car. He smiled and gestured for him to join him.

“When Freelancer fell apart you somehow found your way to Los Santos. You have an apartment with two cats—Tigra and...” the man paused trying to remember if he caught the name of the other cat when he visited.

“Mittens,” the man standing behind the couch supplied, his deep green eyes never leaving the two men having ‘a moment’. His eyes curious, _worried_ , but ultimately curious.

“Tigra and Mittens. You’ve gained a small following of elder women who sing you praise.” The burned man continued on like the slip up hadn’t happened. “We’ve only known each other for a few days but we’re working a job together. Last night you got shot.”

And there was the pain—the pain and the memories and the yelling. And the _anger_.

Wash’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the edge of the burn mark along the left side of Dante’s face—it wasn’t just a burn mark, it looked like some of the skin had been torn and cut. Wash never noticed before. “Where’s Locus?” He snapped his attention away from the ruined area and to Dante’s liquid amber eyes—brown eyes were never _just_ brown. “I need to wring his neck.”

Felix’s cackle could be heard behind Dante, “do you hear that sweetums? Kitty’s got claws.”

Wash made a move to break around the man still holding his face far too gently then he should—it felt too intimate, too loving. What was with these two? First Locus now Dante—something must be in the water in Los Santos.

Dante shook his head when Wash shot a glare up at him, so Wash barred his teeth—something that felt out of his normal character, even to himself and snarled “I’ll rip out your spleen Felix.” And that only caused the man to howl louder, the couch legs scraping against the wooden floor as he flopped back on to it.

Dante manhandled the blond, pulling his face up, side to side, then back to the point where he could continue staring at him. Wash stared back, there was nothing else to do—he wasn’t letting go, wasn’t letting him launch himself over the couch to tackle their pilot and shake some sense into him to actually listen to his team. “You’re uncharacteristically angry,” the man voiced thumb rubbing over Washington’s cheekbones.

He exhaled through his nose, “I hurt and I woke up somewhere unfamiliar... and I don’t have my meds.” Dante’s brows furrowed, the concern touching but Wash shook it off. “Its fine... just, need to go to my apartment before the job.” His hands finally left Wash’s face, instead sliding around his shoulders and leading him back to the couch.

Locus was still standing—watching him, studying. He was always studying.

“So, Crazy, does that shit happen often?” Wash snarled at the man, throwing the remote that (moments ago) was originally perched on the coffee table. Felix ducked and the plastic device bounced off the cushions and passed Locus and clattering along the wooden floors. “Okay! Okay, I get it. Veto that name, gotcha.” He held his hands up, palms up in surrender.

Washington sighed, tension melting again and he tucked his legs under his ass. “Every morning since Freelancer went to shit I have to deal with that, or puking my guts out—or both.” His head rolled back along the couch and he pinched his eyes shut. “Most of us were implanted with AI programs—some got characteristics like anger or intelligence, or curiosity. They stuffed the AI for memory in my head and as soon as it was implanted it,” he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and flicked his wrist in a silent meaning of a screw unscrewing (or popping loose).

The couch dipped beside him but nobody touched him as he explained; “Epsilon went insane and started to tear itself apart along with my own head in the process—essentially it tried to kill itself in my head.”

Dante whistled, “Well shit. Was this before the Freelancer base blew up?”

Ash—the taste of smoke and ash and smoke blossomed along his taste buds. “Yeah, this was before I blew up the Freelancer base.” There was more to the story than that—there was always more to the rumors even though there was always a speck of truth that stirs it.

Washington did _kinda_ blow it up. The fire started in the fight that broke up between the members, before he flipped the EMP and the AIs ‘died’—all but Epsilon who was safely transported somewhere far out of the city (and hopefully halfway across the country by then). He remembers getting shot in the chest twice by Maine— _fucking Maine_ (he wasn’t Maine, wasn’t the Maine that he knew—the man that he loved). He remembers the AIs _dying_ and the other Freelancers screaming. He isn’t sure how the fire started or when it made it to some tankers, but he remembered the explosion and the fact that they were all running.

They were all running and _leaving_ and Washington was lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Well shit, Washington, you were holding out on us!” Felix launched himself from his side of the couch to the spot between Dante and Washington, his limps bumping and knocking against both men as Felix made a nuisance of himself.

-XXX-

Since the very first moment he’s met these guys Washington had never seen anyone else behind the wheel of a vehicle save Dante—but here he was... sitting behind the wheel of a vehicle while the three men made their way into the facility and quietly took out the men on patrol.

“ **How’s things in the Insurgent?”** D’s voice is calm and Wash can hear a muffled grunt from the other end as the man killed his target.

As much as Wash hated being left behind in the car he was slightly glad to be, his arm was killing him and he stitches in his leg was starting to itch now that the skin was healing nicely. He didn’t really _feel_ up to do the stealth mission and it was honestly much easier for him to remain in the Insurgent with the EMP while the other three snuck around and killed a bunch of people.

“It’s nice and quiet. I’m enjoying being away from Felix.”

“ **Hey! Just admit it blondie-locks, you’re charmed by my wily ways.** ” Wash rolled his eyes as Felix’s voice dipped huskily, “ **You want a piece of this fine ass.** ”

“ **Your ass is nothing to praise,** ” Locus’ deep voice cut in through the radio and Wash bit back a laugh—he was still pissed at the man, but  even he had to admit that that warranted a good snicker.

“ **Oh shut the fuck up, you’re just bitchin’ cause your new obsession is pissy at you ‘cause you’re the reason why he got shot.** ”

“ **You stabbed him.** ”

Wash tapped out a silent beat against the steering wheel, he was getting a nice earful of some workplace drama and while he was still the topic of conversation it was nice to not be the centre of all this banter.

“ **And I haven’t done anything,** ” Dante’s chuckle caressed his inner ear and Wash couldn’t help but shiver at the rumble.

“ **Shut. Up.** ” Both Felix and Locus bit back and Wash openly laughed at that.

“ **Alright, drive the car up to the doors Wishy-Wash we’ll start hacking.** ” Wash turned the key and the car rumbled to live. He shifted gears until he had begun to roll forwards, speed increasing with the added weight being delivered by his boot. He turned past the gate, around the corner and ignoring the man shaped bump he rolled over until Felix was waving him into the garage.

He pulled the all black Insurgent in the garage and the followed Felix in the back of the company van parked just out of the way of the main garage doors—they slowly closed as Felix slammed the back doors of the van behind them.

“ **I need a drink** ,” Wash picked up Dante’s voice over the radio still in his ear more so than the front of the van (behind the wheel where he seemed to be most comfortable).

“Going to have to second that,” Washington replied—it’s just been one of those shitty days.


	8. Exit Stage Left: Walk off into the Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heist is finished at last. 
> 
> Felix feels like a drowned cat (and is cranky like one too), and Locus... well, Locus' crush is showing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short simply because I wanted this DAMN HEIST FINISHED!!   
> Now I can actually get to writing the fun stuff... like relationships, and trauma! And... well, relationships!  
> I was testing out a different POV with this so I'm just going to apologize now, I needed to test it out now so I can see if I like it for later or not.

They were originally going to have Dante and Wash go into the facility, grab the info and get the fuck out of dodge while Locus and Felix stuck to the chopper and blew shit up before they had to go pick up the ground team—that was the original idea, but with Wash’s injury Felix had tagged out when the whole _water part_ was going to be a large factor.

Washington sucked in a breath when the chopper gained altitude. He hated flying; he’s always hated flying and while he wasn’t a sobbing mess like he was at the beginning of his flying days, Wash was still nowhere in the means of before comfortable in the air. “ **Wash will flip the switch on the EMP once we reach our proper altitude, then D and I will jump out and land in the parking lot where we break into the building to steal the info, swim our way to safety then send a flare up when we beach for Lo to bring the bird in for pickup.** ” Wash could hear Felix going over everything; for himself, Wash—who knows.

It helped either way.

The helicopter swung lazily in a slow spiral straight up and Dante removed the communication device and tossed it up to Wash who caught it and hooked it up for easy access when they pick them up later. The man pulled his grinning shark helmet over his face and turned to Felix for their A-O.K.

The helicopter leveled off and Locus’ voice was heard over the communications, “ **We’re at the altitude.** ”

Felix nodded pulling the headset off and handing it to the blond. He pulled the night vision goggles on and pulled them until they hung loosely around his neck. He held up three fingers to D, standing from his seat and checking his parachute one last time. One finger lowered and Dante stood as well. When the last finger dropped Wash pressed the button for the EMP to turn everything dark and the two men in the back jumped.

“ **One hundred on Felix getting shot,** ” Locus clicked his tongue against his teeth and Wash chuckled.

“ **Does it could if it’s from friendly fire? If so, then I don’t want to take the bet.** ” Washington replied and the copper began to lower, circling around the building towards the entrance that the ground team was meant to break through.

“ **How about if Felix gets shot we go out for dinner,** ” the helicopter leveled off and the first set of bullets _ting-ed_ off the metal sides. Wash pulled up the display of his gun and sighed, firing off a couple of shots towards the dark shapes on the screen—for a moment he hoped that it wasn’t their boys.

“ **And if he doesn’t?** ” Wash questioned firing off a few more explosive shots at the shapes before turning his attention away from the display and out the cockpit window.

“ **Vans pulling up,** ” the Valkyrie swung around towards the approaching vehicles now that most of the ground people were either taken care of, inside chasing after the ground team, or just no longer of importance. “ **If he doesn’t I’ll make you dinner.** ”

Locus reached over, his other hand white knuckling the controls, to squeeze Washington’s lower arm. Wash caught his gaze and bit back a small smile, “ **Fuck it. Sure. If you’re going to spoil me after getting my shot then fine, I’ll take the food but I’m not letting that go so easily.** ”

One of the cars blew up. “ **As you say, Washington**.” The other car blew up.

-XXXxx-

Felix nods to Sharkface from his cover and the man takes out the last man in the hallway. That EMP did shit all for them. A glorified light switch is pretty much all it was. The machines were still on—the _fucking alarm_ was still blaring in their ears. Felix was going to kill that Agent 14 and whomever it was that that asshole was doing business with because everything was just a pile of shit on top of shit (stuffed inside shit that was set to baste in shit for a grand total of twenty-fucking-four beautiful hours for a great and _fabulous_ shit filled flavour that the  _WHOLE FAMILY_  would enjoy).

Felix holstered his pistol—he was down to a _fucking pistol!_ How shitty was that?!—and finally left cover. Sharkface jutted his head out towards him and pointed straight down to the water bellow them—yeah, this would be the part where they got their toes wet.

He threw off the night vision goggles and pulled out his first rebreather(s). Both men jumped without a count, diving into the cool water with a flare tucked into Sharkface’s belt. Felix would never understand that man and his love for fire and explosives; just because you love something doesn’t mean you should still strap a flare to your ass while swimming through an underwater tunnel.

But, that was D for him and that man didn’t question him when he got friendly with his knives and while swimming it wasn’t like he could call the man out of his questionable accessory—as much as he would wish to.

They swam—it went on and on and on.

Switching through two other rebreathers before even thinking of seeing a sliver of the outside air ever again. When they switched to the third the end of the tunnel was upon them. They kicked off the bottom of the tunnel and pulled their waterlogged asses to shore; a more of an elegant drag and flop on Felix’s part before he spat out the rebreather and groaned.

“Who wants to send up the flare? One, two three—not me!” Felix shouted to his partner for that heist.

Sharkface scowled down at his soaked helmet but still pulled the flare gun from his belt and pointed it up. A bright red flare shot out of the gun, glowing brightly in the moment it levitated in the open air before making its descent. An explosion went off and both men snapped their heads towards the sound; it sounded a fair distance away but still too close for any comfort.

“That better be them killing shit and not the other way around—I’m not fucking swimming again for at least another two weeks. Fuck that!” Felix called, smirking towards Dante.

Dante shook his head and stood, the white sand sticking to his soggy wet jeans and black jacket, “chopper inbound,” he pointed to the dark shape quickly descending over the hill. The two men on the sand had to dive back into the surf to avoid the heavy landing the copper took.

“WHAT THE FUCK, LOCUS?!” Felix’s voice broke halfway through as he sputtered out water and dove into the waiting chopper. It had sustained damage and was starting to smoke.

“Enemy choppers,” Washington called from the main gun, tossing back their headsets. The pair buckled into their gunner positions and slapped the headsets on. “ **Shooting’s a bit tricky when they have three guns and we only have one.** ” They took to the sky, Locus and Washington chatting over the COMs about the directions—“ **They should be just over there**.”

The Valkyrie started beeping and Locus swore under his breath; the man dipped the chopper down just over the water, skimming the ground until he reached the parked cars waiting for their arrival.

“Are they seriously going to be paying us right now?” Felix hissed pulling off the buckle around his waist and standing to get a look at who awaited them.

“ **I thought that was what this was all about—get paid, fuck off.** ” Washington threw a glance back towards him and shrugged.

“No, I wanted the payment to be late so I could torture and _kill them_ for fucking messing everything up—a lab shouldn’t have air support or the FBI on our asses all the time!”

“ **There was a jet,** ” Locus added when he finally landed the bird, the blades still whirling overhead. “ **Before the flare went up, there was a jet called in.** ”

“ **Fucking son of a bitch,** ” Dante hissed throwing the headset from his ears and grabbing his helmet. He was the first one to leave the helicopter and meet with their employers—he was the one that grabbed the information after all. Behind him the helicopter finally died, the blades smoking and slowly spinning to a shuttered stop as the other three men left the metal flying trap.

“Jobs done now pay up.” Felix stuffed his hands in his pocket and glared at the man and woman in front of him. Washington had never met that woman standing beside Agent 14 but by the glares Felix was throwing her way he would’ve safely assumed that he was at least familiar with the woman’s face.

“I knew you could do it,” the woman smiled handing over the large silver case to Dante, “but… you are professionals.” How she dragged the final word made Felix itch to cut her—make her bleed for all the trouble that those two had caused them.

Dante popped the case open, glancing in at the sum inside—he nodded to his partners in crime and then to their employers. “If anything’s missing Felix’ll go hunting.”

He was thinking of just skipping the formalities—the blowing up their helicopter and walking off into the rising sun—and just killing those two right now. He and Locus had their next job already lined up, Dante was going to go under for awhile (work on some cars, tinker with his guns, be on call if they need him) and well… Wash was the only one they didn’t _know_ , but they knew where to find him now.

He could kill those two right now—he could put a bullet in that chick’s head… he could.

He glared at the car the pair got into and continued to do so as they drove off with all the information that they needed. He sighed when they were just dots in his vision, nothing more than a failed possibility and a new prospect to hunt. He spared a glance to his partner when Dante pulled the pin out of a grenade and tossed it into the dead helicopter.

Locus looked away first, an arm wrapping around Washington’s shoulders and pulling the blond man forward before he got into another mishap involving that chopper.

Felix was going to spend the next three days doing mostly three things, and hopefully only those three things.

Drinking, Fucking, and Partying.

Maybe all at once—he didn’t care, he just didn’t want to see any of those three faces for the next few days, not when he had a shit ton of new money to burn (if it was all there; if not then he’d be killing instead but he wouldn’t mind that either).


	9. With The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey D,” Dante’s chocolate brown eyes opened and he rolled his head towards him lazily. Wash was feeling a little stupid; the type of stupid that came from a bottle or can and often made ideas seem so much better than they actually were. He was feeling a little bit of that kind of stupid—a little bit stupid, a little bit bored, and a little (read: a lot) bit starved of intimacy. “Want to make out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge me, I just really wanted to write this okay?! I'm writing Locus' part next most likely.

It was sickening just how fast Washington had got wrapped up into _that_ life again; it felt weird to be back in his apartment, waking up to vomit profusely into the toilet as someone not yet himself before padding out to take his medication with his cats perched, watching him, from whatever high place they could find.

It was sickening just how fast Washington had fallen into the trap brought into light with more money than what Washington could use for whatever domestic life he was trying to lead, with the ache in his bones and muscles that were threatening to turn to fat, with the sudden three new contacts he had in his phone labeled only with one letter each (the first one as **L** , the second as **D** , and the third as **F** ).

It was sad, going through that new phone of his that he had hardly ever used in that year of hiding—he only had three contacts saved, and all three of them were from his new criminal activities.

There would be numbers of former contacts still fresh in his mind when he’d pull up the keypad; his sister’s old number, Maine’s—shit even South… _even South_.

In the three days since the heist, his phone—his contacts—dropped from the face of the earth. They were doing whatever it was that they normally did between jobs. Wash remembers that; remembers the calm breath after the jobs, remembers curling into bed against his older lover and catching up on all the sex they missed. Washington was willing to bet a fair bit of his share that that was what Felix was doing with his time while Dante most likely worked on the cars that he bitched so much about during their short time together.

In the three days since the heist, Washington had fallen into a routine again—like getting back on the bike after months of walking everywhere. It felt like a rush to be able to move again, to go faster—to feel the breeze through his shirt and against his face. Shit; Washington wasn’t going to be able to pull out, not now. Not that his leg no longer pulled with his steps when he’d go out for his morning and nightly runs. Not when he pulled out and dusted off the weights he had buried under his bed and started to use his door frames as pull-up bars.

And not after he bought himself a rocket launcher.

Not after he invested in a storage shed under a name he would never, _never ever_ , use again (or ever thought he’d use in the first place). Not after he bought it out in cash for the next two years, no questions asked—no raised eyebrows or lingering looks at his face.

On the fourth day since the heist, after Washington had found his way back to his apartment after a two hour run around Los Santos—after the shower and his ultimately lazy redressing—Wash pulled open the door to his apartment and knew for certain that he wasn’t going to just fall back into a retirement, not with Dante leaning against the door frame with his knuckles raised to knock.

“Uh,” his eyes blinked owlishly behind his aviators at the sudden (unexpected) opening of the door. The two men stared at the other for a moment—Wash wasn’t expecting Dante of all people to be out in the hall unannounced. He mostly expected it of Felix (certainly), and a little bit of Locus with his very obvious and painfully blunt flirting (plus, the man owed him a homemade dinner).

“I thought you were going to be dropping off the map to work on your cars,” Wash broke the confused silence. Washington enjoyed Dante’s presence; he was quiet, but there was an understanding between them that Wash found had to describe—reminded him of how Maine and he used to get along, before (and during) their relationship… before the _mishap_ and Sigma.

Dante shrugged, “felt like having company—owed you a tour, if I remember correctly.” His sunglasses slipped down his nose so he could take in the blond in all his freckled and scared glory. “I have beer,” the invitation hanging heavy in the air between them.

Wash licked his lips—he was craving a drink, and the promise of heavy weapons always did tweek his interest. He jingled his keys, making a mental check that he had both his wallet, phone and his trusty lone pistol tucked in the back of his belt. “Sure, though it better be the good shit.”

-XXXxxxx-

It was a nice car; a bright red camaro, very fitting from what Washington knows about the man. Wash took a deep breath of the air whipping around his face, the air cool on his tongue even in the humidity of the summer—the sun at the peak of its height, making the road around them ripple with heat. “You doing alright?” Dante called from behind the wheel, one hand lazily gripping the wheel while the other shifted up the gears.

“Yeah,” Wash answered back over the howling wind in his ear as the man sped up onto the freeway out of the city.

The man turned his head, eyes peering out over the shades purposely slipping down his nose. He took his hand off the wheel and pushed the glassed back up his nose, his knee keeping the car stable in their clear path down the drive. His palm slapped against the top of the wheel before his dragged it down the side and hooked two fingers around it to steer. “Good; shit got weird that day at Locus’ loft. Wanted to make sure you’re still with us.”

Wash turned his attention back to the shit green car in front of them; he was fighting a small smile from pulling at his lips. “The relapse back into this life is helping—it’s all I’ve known, it brings everything back before the time before shit hit the fan.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dante nodding in understanding, “plus the thought of fucking around with the new toys makes me a little giddy.”

He blames Maine for his love for things that go _boom_ —all that man’s fault with his grenade launcher and the rocket launcher and those specialty combustion gloves he had built (those things left craters in cars and walls).

“Oh?” Dante shot back over the call of the wind, the corner of his lip pulling up in a ghost of a smirk.

“Went on a splurge to replenish my weapons, got a rocket launcher.” Wash beamed, full blown forty kilowatt smiled, when the driver laughed and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “I told you explosions make me giddy—if I’m being dragged back into this life I need to arrive in a fire-y explosion!”

He doesn’t understand it; doesn’t understand how this man driving made his mind flash to a time when he was thirteen and just figuring out that he liked guys by lurking around his sister’s older friends at the gas station in the bad part of town—before his Father had dragged them into his life as one the members on his payroll (not just the family of a gang leader). Back when he would test how far he could push against the teen who would later be called Maine—how much he could get away with holding the teen and showing off with the flick of his skateboard and his too big grin and his dumb beanie pulled over his wheat blond hair.

He doesn’t understand how he could make the comparison and still feel a pang of yearning and _trust_ for a man he hardly knows. He blames the build—the height. Locus is still taller, but Dante fills out his height with broad shoulders and defined muscles. Still not as much as what Maine had packed on in his adulthood—maybe that’s why; maybe it brought him back to when Wash was just a dumb kid named David who flirted with a guy four years (or was it five years?) older than him.

Dante was watching him behind his dark glasses, his eyebrows drawn up and mouth ajar—Wash snapped his head the other way, towards the cars whipping by as Dante passed.

Dante wasn’t Maine. Dante wasn’t Maine and Washington knew that—he knew that and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.

He found the black haired man attractive; there was no questioning that Washington had a nasty habit of surrounding himself with grossly overly attractive people—even with the scars and burns there was still something about the other man that made him all aflutter.

 _Shit_.

Dante’s hand squeezed his knee and Wash turned his attention away from the window and to the hand in his lap. He tilted his hand until it was palm up, fingers wiggling idle but clearly in an attempt to draw the blond’s attention to it. Wash threw a look up at the driver—Dante’s face pointedly facing the road in front of them but his eyes glance between the road and Washington—he sighed, weaving their fingers together.

He had always done three things after finishing a job—go for a run, sleep for a solid twelve undisturbed hours (Wash had somehow accomplished this feat the first day), and found some physical intimacy (may it be a hug or cuddle with his sister, or curling up on the couch with one of the other Freelancers while they ran a hand through his hair, or something less platonic and _romantic_ in nature with Maine once they were an item).

He would deny being starved for contact; he would deny it up and down Los Santos. But that denial wouldn’t chase away the fact that he was.

-XXXX-

When the car pulled off the freeway, then the road, then off the dirt road Wash could feel the heat soak through his clothes and into his skin. He hadn’t noticed how out in the back country it was a hell of a lot hotter; and here he was thinking the city pollution would’ve made everything miserable—guess it all went out towards the sand and cactuses.

The red camaro rolled to a stop outside of large seemingly run down shed, Dante pulled open his door first and Wash quickly followed. He eyed the trailer home on the property and the second large shed. “One of your hideaways?” Washington called out following the man into the closest shed.

The building was filled with finished cars of different eras; there was an old red and white Impala with the hood propped open and the engine pulled out and hung from the rafters by chains. “One of them,” the man answered pulling open the door to the mini fridge tucked away beside the worn out beige couch and messy table covered with a plethora of gun and car magazines. “It’s a nice place to hold most of my cars,” he handed the bottle to the blond when he rejoined his side.

Wash took the bottle and eyed the cap; running his tongue over his molars in thought. He shrugged, bringing the bottle up to his back teeth and hooking his teeth just under the cap while biting down and pulling up. Dante pulled his glassed up into his hair and eyed him funny—until the lid popped off and Wash stuck his tongue out with the lid slightly bent on the muscle with a grin.

“Where did you learn that?” the burned man question taking a swing from his open bottle (he did his the old fashioned way with a bottle opener—the square).

Wash launched the cap up into the air and it clattered to the dirty floor, “I grew up in a gang, I picked up all sorts of weird shit growing up.”

Dante shook his head, a smirk tugging on his lips as he beckoned his guest to follow him further into the large shed-turned-garage. He went over his collection of vehicles in the building they were currently in, explaining the shit he tinkered with and Wash listened. It was always interesting to hear someone talk about things that interested them, and while cars weren’t Wash’s favorite objects in the world (they hated him, he didn’t like them in return) he could still appreciate the beauty and art that came with them.

It was after the seventh car that Dante pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the hood of another car they were passing, Washington followed shortly after with his own article of clothing. The shed-turned-garage had no AC and the only fan was located near the front of the building where the torn out engine and couch was—it was starting to get _hot_ and the beer in Washington’s hand was nearly finished.

Dante gestured that they return to the front doors of the building and Wash couldn’t help but agree—he needed a new beer and that fan was looking _very_ pleasant right about now.

They made their way back towards the fridge and Wash handed his empty over just as the man was pulling out a new bottle, he set the empty on top of the fridge. Dante popped the cap off the new bottle, “before you ruin those teeth,” and handed it to Washington before doing the same for his own.

“So tell me,” Wash started, stepping back into the wind from the fan, “what’s with the three of you? Relationship, fuck buddies, none of the above?”

Dante pulled a face, “they call me for jobs, sometimes afterwards there’s sex. Locus puts out for mutual face fucking, Felix wants everything—beats buying a girl for the night.” He walked around the blond standing in the middle of the breeze and towards the open Impala; he shut the hood and leaned against the space.

Wash took a swing of the cold drink in his hand, “Bi?” Dante clicked his tongue against his teeth and pulled a _very Felix_ move—a finger pistol with a careless wink. Washington snorted. “Birds of a feather,” he mumbled to himself.

Dante huffed, “I know Felix is pansexual, so that feather theory is—” he made the universal _so-so_ hand sign, “and not even Felix knows what tickles Locus’ fancy. So far it’s either lack of anything better or blonds with freckles.”

Wash ignores that and instead joins the man on the hood of his car. The pair sit in a comfortable silence, the fan’s breeze reaching them from their seat. Wash closes his eyes and takes another sip, then another, and another and another. It’s nice; the only noise is the fan and when they’d take another swing from their booze.

“Any idea on the next job?” Wash finally inquires, shattering the pleasant hum they’ve fallen into.

The man shakes his head, “they’ll call when they figure shit out.” He pressed the sweating bottle against Washington’s neck and the blond couldn’t help the groan of pleasure—Dante grins, pulling the drink away from the heated skin and back to his lips for another swing. “They’re Mercs under a contract with some big shot up along the Northern border—or something—but were send down to this shit hole with some shot at big cash,” Dante shrugs, “they take jobs that won’t fuck up their base pay.”

Wash’s eyes narrow and he presses his own bottle against the man’s tattooed chest—Dante throws him an interested look that leaves Wash’s heart thundering in his throat when he pulls the booze away. “So they’re in some mobster’s pocket,” Washington hums; he’s not happy with how that information rolls off his tongue. It doesn’t sit right with him and he can’t place why.

Dante shrugs, “the asshole isn’t even in Los Santos so it’s not like we have much to worry about. There’s enough gangs here to dodge around as it is without worrying about some shithead hugging the border with the Canadians.” The man has a point. Mercenaries only show loyalties to money and maybe their own circle of informants. “The money that Felix digs up is good so there’s that—just show that you ain’t gonna roll over and snitch and they won’t throw you in the ocean with a pair of lead boots.”

“That or bat my _pretty_ eyes,” he smirked around the mouth of his bottle.

Dante laughed, “Or that.”

-XXXXx-

It was odd, stretching out on someone else’s couch so comfortably with his fourth bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of him. The sun was starting to lower in the sky when they migrated to the air conditioned trailer for a break from the heat. Washington turned plopping his bent arm on the cushions behind him and took in the man relaxing beside him.

He took in the scars and the tattoos, the sun kissed skin—the tan marks from working outside for a certain about of time without taking his shirt off. Washington wanted to laugh at the tattoos—he did that already though, said they reminded him of a frat-boy. Dante paled at that; “I was drunk and it was a good idea at the time. Still beats the one on Felix’s ass.”

Washington both wanted to see it and not—it’ll give Felix too many ideas and he’d rather not fight him off after his leg _just finished healing_.

“Hey D,” Dante’s chocolate brown eyes opened and he rolled his head towards him lazily. Wash was feeling a little stupid; the type of stupid that came from a bottle or can and often made ideas seem _so much better_ than they actually were. He was feeling a little bit of _that_ kind of stupid—a little bit stupid, a little bit bored, and a little (read: a lot) bit starved of intimacy. “Want to make out?”

Dante blinked, eyes narrowing as he pursed his lips. “Just kissing?” he voice smoothed out in a tired drawl. Wash nodded—Dante licked his lips and he shifted in his seat, “fuck it. Sure.”

Wash threw a leg over the man’s and straddled him, hands smoothing up his naked chest and up to his neck and shoulders before pressing their lips together. The man’s hands slid over Wash’s jean covered legs to cup his ass; no squeezing, no pulling or grinding—just a pair of hands sliding into his back pockets as their mouths opened and tongues slid together.

Dante followed Wash’s lead; tongue pressing and sliding slowly against his, a tilt of his head here, a jut of a chin there. A press and slide of tongues before mouths closed and pecks were exchanged—Dante threw in a few nips and pulls to Wash’s bottom lip every so often before they’d open their mouths and slide their tongues together again.

Wash’s thumb caressed the man’s jaw throughout, chests barely touching. Wash could taste the beer on the man’s tongue, could taste the beer in his breath as they kissed and kissed and kissed. Every so often one would hum or ha into the other’s mouth—a chuckle sometimes when Dante would trap Washington’s bottom lip between his teeth and pull with a smile crinkling his eyes.

It was nice.

… _this was nice_.


	10. The ol' Wine and Dine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, there's a date~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* when you see it, LuckyLocus, you'll know that its for you ;)
> 
> Also the recipe can be found here:  
> http://allrecipes.com/recipe/shrimp-scampi-4/detail.aspx

-XXXXxx-

On the sixth day since the heist Washington came home to Locus standing in the middle of his living room with Mittens in his arms purring up a storm and Tigra figure-eighting through his legs. His rich brown hair pulled up into a small (dare he say, cute) ponytail with black shades perched up on top of his head.

“I want to ask, but at the same time I don’t,” Wash set his groceries on the counter and began to put them away: milk, ice cream, peaches, lettuce, green and orange peppers, and finally his chocolate. He could hear the man leave the living room, his boots _thunking_ with each step he took. It’s one of the reasons why Washington loved wood floors—he could hear just about everything, and when he was in one of his _spells_ it helped to pick apart the noise.

The cat paws against the wood, the people next door or above him moving furniture around—all of it helped, it was all better than a roaring fire and gunshots.

Locus plucks the ice cream from the counter and opens the freezer, “I owe you a dinner.” His fingers pressing against the small of Washington’s back and he turns towards the man. “Do you eat shrimp?” his forehead bumps against Wash’s and he sighs, nodding at the question.

Wash is the one to press their lips together—a quick seal of lips before pulling away. “Your place?” Locus caresses the scar on Washington’s lip, over where the stitches were and nods.

They share one more quick kiss before leaving.

-XXXxxx-

Wash had grabbed his medication, sorting it all out in a plastic baggy when he claimed to check that the cats had food and water before leaving—Locus didn’t question him when he pocketed the baggy in his front pocket before following the man downstairs. And when they got to Locus’ high-rise apartment he learned what they were when the bag was tossed onto the counter beside the fridge.

“My meds,” the blond explained jumping up onto the island and sitting there, watching the master at work in his own kitchen. “Just in case, y’know?” he tossed the man a tight lipped smile. He didn’t want to explain that those combinations of pills were the ones that he took every morning as soon as he gets up—doesn’t want to plant that hope in him, and himself as well.

He’d be lying and saying that he was already slowly retracting that _I don’t like random sex_ comment he made. He’d enjoy himself if he were to sleep with Locus, Dante as well—maybe not so much Felix yet, but the thought has been crossing his mind often enough that if Felix were to press _just right_ Wash would buckle and bow to the request.

“Did you make that pasta?” Wash leaned forwards on his perch on the counter, trying to look around the bulk of the man as he cooked. In the saucepan he had melted butter and he was just putting in the shrimp and garlic. It smelt fantastic, and looked to be coming along nicely as Locus took the pot from the gas stove top and began to pour the pasta into the strainer.

“It’s nothing,” the man shrugged returning to the shrimp in the pan and stirring the shrimp and garlic, “can you get the wine from the fridge?” Locus flicked his wrist, the pan an extension of his arm and hand as the shrimp stirred.

Wash slid from the island countertop and towards the two-door fridge. The appliance was filled with fresh produce; greens and reds, orange and yellows. Wash could pick out fruits and vegetables of all sorts in the crispers and a few even on the shelves when the compartment reached complete capacity. It seems like Locus recently went grocery shopping—shit, this was making Washington’s own collection of vegetables look horrible.

He tore his gaze from Locus’ collection of produce and to the collection of unopened and chilled wine on the door. “The white or red?”

“White for the food, but red for drinking. Of course, if you drink red.” Wash snorted at the thought and took both bottles from the fridge.

“Me? Come now, I have _taste buds_ ,” he winked setting both bottles of wine on the counter beside the fridge. He shouldered the door to the fridge closed and remembered—shit, double door fridge. Reaching and closing the other door as well Washington made his way to Locus’ other side, between the sink and stove and pointed to the cupboards overhead. “Can I get plates?”

Locus added the wine in with the shrimp and some pepper while stirring. “To your right,” he counted down the seconds as Washington got things settled. The blond checked the still steaming pasta in the strainer and plucked a noodle from it and stuffed it into his mouth on his way out of the kitchen.

“I’ll be back,” Wash called with a grin and ducked around the wall and towards the first bathroom located in the man’s apartment. It was just to the right of (though it was the left _while_ walking through the) front door; flicking the light on and closing the door behind him Wash turned to the large mirror and eyed his reflection critically.

Turning the cold water tap enough to get a steady stream out Wash cupped the water between two hands, a small puddle growing in depth between them before he quickly released the small pool and rubbed his hands over his face. Scrubbing over his eyes and forehead, cheeks and chin and nose before returning to his eyes; Washington pulled the fluffy towel from the rack beside him and scrubbed again. It smelt of Locus and he’d be embarrassed to admit that he brought the towel all the closer against his nostrils.

Tossing the cloth away from his face Wash quickly did what he _reasoned_ that he should do in the bathroom and hastily washed his hands. And, when drying for the second time he did _not_ bring the cloth back up to his face like a creep—he didn’t!

Weaving the towel back through the circle rack Washington quickly threw open the door and flicked off the lights. He didn’t want to keep the man waiting, having him think that he was doing anything else _other_ than washing his hands and/or his face.

First dates. Y’know how it is.

Don’t make a fool outta yourself, this. Don’t fuck up, that. Some many rules of what and what-not to do; Washington forgot all about that stress. It’s been _a long_ time since he’s been on a first date. It’s been a long time since he’s even _thought_ about dates.

He found Locus setting plates steaming with food down in the dimly lit dining room. The glass table top set with crimson silk placemats, three candles lit in the middle and a glass each filled with an appropriate amount of red wine (read: not quite halfway).

Washington took to the seat to the left of the other, leaving his right hand assessable to _whatever_ he wished. He was surprised, but still pleased, to see that that place had been set for a left-handed individual. “You romantic sap,” he grinned taking his seat, watching as Locus lowered himself into the one beside him. “Does anyone else know that you make homemade meals and have candlelight diners?”

He could’ve sworn he saw the other man blush. “The others know of my cooking,” he takes hold of his wine glass and held it towards Washington. “There’s been times where I’ve cooked for them between jobs,” Wash knocked the rim of his glass against Locus’.

“To good company,” the blond smiled and took a sip.

There wasn’t much talking to be had between them, though Locus would inquire about trivial matters—safe topics, topics that they’d most likely already know about each other if they met properly and not with a gun pointed at the other. And in return Washington asked his own basic questions.

How long Washington had his cats for; about seven months now. If Locus’ favorite colour was green. It was. Washington was almost spurred into an angry rant about the hunting of big cats and the fact that most of them face extinction—he was able to pull back after he angrily stabbed his last shrimp on his plate. Locus mentioned he used to have ferrets as a child, four of them, and a finch.

“Where did you live before Los Santos,” a perfectly normal topic of conversation even if there was a long standing history bond tightly within. Washington listed the two cities he had settled in shortly after the fall of Freelancer; an apartment in Miami for two months, and then Detroit for about another month before he had made his way down to Los Santos.

“Have you and Felix known each other long?” Washington couldn’t help but ask as he stole a shrimp from Locus’ plate. He kissed the barest hint of a pout off the man’s lips afterwards, and then kissed him again because he could. From just that one question Washington learned that while both Felix and Locus’ parents were from the Philippines, Locus had family in Italy and Mexico and Felix had family in South Korea and France—both that they still communicate with.

With his fork now resting against his plate and both men finished and merely enjoying their wine Locus leaned forwards, “and you. Do you know any other languages?” his deep voice rumbling in his throat. Locus’ deep green eyes bore into him, taking in every freckle and dip and scar.

Wash set his finished glass of wine back to the table, “some German.” He licked his lips and furrowed his brows when Locus asked for him to speak in the language. He hesitated before finally resolving to go with the first idea that he thought of. Washington leaned in, lips ghosting against Locus’ and whispered “nein” before breaking out into a grin at the unimpressed expression his _date_ leveled at him.

“Now you’re just teasing,” Locus followed when the blond stood their hands finding the others’. Washington grinned, steps slowing as Locus backed him out of the dining room area, Wash tugged at the hand in his and Locus smirked in return and _finally_ bent down to kiss the man.

Wash pulled him closer, pressing up against him—arms wrapping around Locus’ neck, body flush and still wanting to press in closer. Locus’ hands on him, hot and heavy and _fuck_. Mouths opened just as his palms began to knead his ass; tongues pressing and sliding, moving together in a slow tango.

Wash whimpered pulling the man in closer, he wanted more.

Those hands crept down further, hooking behind his thighs and lifting the blond until he could wrap his legs around Locus’ waist. “This alright?” the man sounded _wrecked_ already as he carried Wash down the hallway that he could assume was where the man slept.

“Yeah,” he pressed a hard kiss to the man’s lips, “yeah yeah. Fuck yeah,” the door behind his back grave away with only a soft press and they quickly returned to their kiss. The soft, slow press and slide of tongues were moving aside as Wash dragged his teeth around the invading muscle in his mouth. Locus groaned, pulling away and tossed the blond onto the bed.

Both men quickly pulled off their own shirts, dropping them to the floor as they took in their partner’s appearance. Locus climbed his way up his partner as soon as his knees made contact with his bedding; teeth and tongue exploring every inch of skin that he could. From hip to chin, Locus sucked a path upwards until he could press their lips together again with the knocking of teeth as he flipped them over until Washington sat perched on top of him.

Wash took hold of Locus’ hands when they reached for his belt. The blood shook his head, “not…” he guided them to his ribs as he pressed, grinding down against the man’s covered crotch. “Not right now,” he licked his lips.

Locus stared, brows furrowed as he took in the bit lip and averting eyes. “Yeah,” he leaned up pressing a gentle kiss to the man’s cheek. “Just kissing,” he whispered before pressing their lips together again. Locus licked into the man’s mouth, coaxing the earlier confidence back into the blond. “This fine?” his palms pressed, sliding down the blond’s sides igniting a full body shiver.

“Yeah,” Washington replied titling his head and angling in for another kiss, another slow slide of tongues pressing together and moving back to the slow tango that they started with. One kiss bled to another, Washington momentary panic pushed aside as his hands explored his partner.

Starting with his wide dark shoulders, Washington found and dug a finger into a knot of muscles. Locus cursed, hips jerking up off the bed and against Washington’s own crotch. He worked the knot out between kisses; Locus had started to bite and pull, sucking Washington’s bottom lip. He should be concerned with how many sounds he was making—sound pace himself, wait for the second date before dragging his hands down Locus’ chest and rolling his hardened nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

Washington should pace himself, wait for the _second date_ before unbuckling his pants and hissing out, “Fuck it” and letting Locus help his cock out of his pants and boxers while Wash did the same for him.

He should, but honestly, by the time Locus’ spit slicked hand wrapped around both their cocks Washington was past the point of caring. All he cared about was kissing the mouth in front of his, feeling that tongue against his and the feeling of his teeth sinking into that lip and just… _pulling_ , pulling and rewarded with a hiss and a groan.

A moan, a whimper—a shiver and a gasp. Wash was falling, tumbling with each tug to his prick, each slide of Locus’ hot and heavy cock against his timed with each small aborted thrust of his hips. “Shit Locus,” he could hardly tear his eyes away from their cocks sliding together, pre-cum dripping over their lengths and easing their slide. He glanced up, up to the face smirking up at him and hissed, catching a moan before he _smashed_ their lips together.

He came—fuck he came, came all over Locus’ chest and cock and hand.

When he caught his breath he pushed Locus’ hand aside and finished him as well. Watching as the man sucked in a breath ground his teeth together and spilled his seed without so much as a moan. “You always that quiet?” Washington inquired taking the offered shirt from Locus to clean up all the cum off with, when he handed that back Locus proceeded to stuff another shirt of his over Wash’s head.

“Didn’t want to miss any of your sounds,” was his answer, paired with that same smug—breathtakingly beautiful _smirk_ (because that wasn’t quite a smile, Wash _knew_ he could do better than that). “Wear that, I’m not driving you home.”

He turned and left the bedroom; Wash caught a blush threatening to spread along his cheeks as Locus turned the corner. “Well it’s a good thing I planned on that!” he called hearing the _clanking_ of glass knocking together as he went about collecting their dinner plates.

Alone, Wash grinned into the shirt still gathered around his neck like a scarf. Sliding his arms through the short sleeves Wash then quickly pulled the collar up and _sniffed_ —he had an excuse to be a weirdo now. His pants bunches around his ankles and his boxers askew on his hips—he quickly fixed his appear by losing the pants but keeping that ‘ _I just had sex and quickly threw my underwear back on’_ look as it was.

Made him feel like he was twenty-two again.

He flopped back against the rumbled sheets and huffed to himself; so maybe he was _easy_ , or… well, easier than what he had hoped for. Could anyone blame him? He hasn’t gotten laid for over a year and sometimes… sometimes a guy just has an awesome date and shit happens.

Wash sighed, pushing himself up and off the bed and making his way through the door. He might as well ask if Locus needed any help cleaning up.


	11. Complications Around Every Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I mention is "Grey" by The Neighbourhood.  
> There be smut in this chapter... have fun! I wanted to give you darlings a longer chapter for putting up with me and talking to me. I love hearing about your stories and just how your doing! (I get lonely, not gonna lie)  
> Next chapter is going to be different then the rest so far (just a heads up).  
> THANKS TO LUCKYLOCUS FOR THE GERMAN!
> 
>  
> 
> [GTA AU Playlist [on youtube because I haven't gotten around to making an 8Tracks one yet]](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEyO_5Mc70BaassAhBShYB1h2z9FITHvf)
> 
>  
> 
> [And for the face paint (yes I did draw these and yes this is my Tumblr, i would love to talk to all of you so please say hi! :D)](http://shadowsheyla.tumblr.com/post/120832596702/okay-so-i-promised-that-id-add-them-all-together)

Day twelve since the heist and Washington was starting to get antsy. His fingers where starting to twitch; he needed _something_ to do, he needed something to do _days_ ago but he wasn’t about to contact them about a job. Wash needed to run and feel that wind through his hair, the adrenaline pumping through his veins with a good handful of bullets whizzing by his head as he’d run for cover.

So he did what he could do; he ran. He went running a lot. Visited the closest gym late at night and pumped iron. He didn’t like his apartment, didn’t want to be surrounded by those walls and feel the AC lap at his skin. He didn’t want to feel… _trapped_ again.

So he ran, he ran a lot. Close to three times a day and each time he’d take new paths.

With his headphones stuffed in his ears Wash followed the path through the park, cutting by the playground littered with happy screaming children as they swung from the bars and tore through the sand. He followed the path around the small pond where a young couple was throwing shaven vegetables to the birds gathered in the water. He followed the path to the edge of the park where the cars were starting to whiz by without a care in the world.

A woman dressed in a rich blue dress came storming towards him, her lips pulled back to show off her anger. Wash pulled his earphones from his ears, “—you have some piece of shit friends! Fuck you, fuck them and I hope that douche bag wrecks that fucking car of his!” He only caught the last part of her rant.

“Wha?” He looked towards the direction the woman stormed from. In the emergency parking sat a bright red Jaguar XK convertible; two of the three men in the car grinned towards him.

“Bitch, get in the car! C’mon we’ve got shit to do!” Felix looked different than how he last saw him. His hair windblown and curly, hair looking recently dyed with the same black base coloring with natural reds and orange streaks. His flashy sunglasses slipping down his nose as he tapped his ring covered fingers to the beat playing through the speakers.

“Uh,” Washington took a step towards them then another. “How did you even find me?” He doesn’t remember telling anyone about going for a run around here, he doesn’t even have his phone for them to track.

Felix waved the question off, “technicalities! Pft, fuck that. Just get in the car Washington we’ve got shit to do and you haven’t greeted me proper.” He curled his forefinger and beckoned the man closer. Wash sighed before he brought his sweat moistened shirt to his nose and took a sniff.

He smelt exactly like how he’d expect after running for an hour in Los Santos’ summer heat.

Wash pulled the shirt up over his head, rubbing the garment over his forehead and over his hair before tossing it at Felix’s leering face. “Push over,” and he tipped himself over the ledge and into the tiny backseat with Felix.

“Hey,” Dante warned turning to the blond and gesturing to the feet his was lowering into the car, “gentle with the Jag, just finished with ‘er.”

Washington couldn’t help but find himself chuckling at the man’s open affection towards his vehicles, and after seeing just how many he had been working on in just that one garage Wash could understand the want to see that they’re treated correctly. “Sorry D,” he threw a small smile towards him, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips that the burned man quickly reciprocated.

“What the hell did I miss?” Felix’s tone lit up in confusion when Wash pressed a peck against Locus’ cheek followed by a soft nuzzle. His eyes narrowed, glancing between the two men in the front seats. Dante looked away casually; starting the car and turning the volume to the radio back up. But Locus, Locus held his gaze in the corner of his eye, his lip threatening to pull up into a smug—“you fucking slept with him didn’t you.”

Felix tore his gaze away from Locus to the shirtless blond watching him in the seat beside his. “You little tramp, what the fuck?! First it’s all ‘ _no I’m not going to sleep with you’_ and now Locus got to get all familiar with your asshole—fucking hell, man! I drop off the grid for a couple of days and you’re spreading your cheeks without even _inviting me_!”

“It was only a handjob.”

That seemed to satisfy the smallest man and he leaned back letting the wind ruffle his unstyled hair. The music vibrating through the speakers lulled the car into a content silence.

 _“First things first_  
I don't wanna be forgotten  
Even worse  
I don't wanna be alone”

Felix took one of Washington’s hands, tugging the man into an embrace. “So tell me Wash,” his breath smelt like a mixture of gum and nicotine. “When did that mentality of yours change? Just get bored of it all, or are you feeling a little lonely at night.”

The wind licked over his freckled skin, “You’re not getting anything other than a kiss until you take me out.” Felix ducked in for a press of lips and Wash met him, paired and pushed back against him. The cool metal bands wrapped around the man’s fingers slid over his shoulders, down his arms then jumping to his ribs and shoving him back towards his side of the car.

“So you’re telling me,” he bit and sucked at the scarred skin of the man’s neck as he crawling into that gym shorts clad covered lap, “all I need to do to get a taste of that cracker white ass of yours is take you out on a date.”

Wash squeezed his ass, pulling him in closer. “There’s a possibility that that date could lead to you ‘ _getting a taste_ ’, yes. But I highly doubt that you’d convince me,” he melted under the touch, the direction—the control that Felix showed as he pulled his head back to show more of his neck.

“So,” the grin was wicked. That nicotine and mint smelling breath puffing out against his lips as Felix lingered, sharing Washington’s breath as the two men in the front seat continued listening to the music playing through the speakers. They were listening in still, Wash caught Dante slipping his sunglasses back up his nose as he sent them a glance. “Tomorrow. You and I. That new dance club downtown.”

 _“You're insane_  
What you said when I explain the game plan  
Nothing's changed   
Except a little more change in my hand”

Wash pushed the man off his lap and back to his side of the car, his back hitting the side of the car and he adjusted into a lazing position. His ankles hooking around Washington and keeping him trapped, “such a fucking _tease_ ,” Felix adjusted his shades and ran a hand through his ruffled hair.

“So what’s got you slinking out of whatever dark corner you were held up in?”

Felix huffed, “rude, sweetheart.” He held his left hand up towards the open sky above him; his rings shining in the sun as he wiggled them. “But in all seriousness,” he sat up feet falling from Washington’s lap, “there’s this prick that owes me money and I’ve let it go for long enough.”

Dante scoffed, “you let someone get away with not paying you? C’mon man, you’re all about your cash. There’s days where I wonder if you use that bathtub of yours to swim in all the cash you claim to have.”

The smallest man punched forwards, slamming his fist against the back of the man’s seat. “Fucking right I do, you fucking prick! In fucking hundreds!” His laughter pitching up as he throws a grin up at Dante in the mirror. “But in all seriousness, there’s a bitch that owes me money and he’s out of town right now. I heard something about him handling business with a gang that they’re allied with so with the boss outta town we’re going to fuck up the Reavers secondary base of operations.”

Locus turned in his seat, wind musing up his pulled back hair, “Tony always pays.”

“I know, that’s why there’s something about all this that isn’t _fucking_ sitting right,” Felix hissed back reaching through the gap between the seats and pushing the other man’s face back around. “I’ve given them another week just ‘cause. But Tony hasn’t contacted me other than that time saying that the money was being deposited. I’m thinking that either someone is fucking him over within his own gang or it’s an outside source. Either way, it’s been a week and at that point I can’t play favourites anymore.”

“How sweet,” Washington rolled his eyes brushing his hair back as the car slowed to a stop at a red light.

“I thought so too,” Felix shot back pushing at the side of Wash’s face. “But we’re going to go blow the place up, send a message and just push him into giving me my _fucking_ money.”

The light turned green and the Jag spurred back to life.

-XXXX-

Washington didn’t feel like questioning Felix’s sudden urge for the theatrics as he began to paint gray, black and orange all over his face in broad strokes of his brush. Felix’s face was covered with a dark slate gray, a black raccoon like mask across his eyes and the pumpkin orange cutting down the middle of his face and a solid orange rectangle sweeping up from his jaw.

He crooked his finger towards Locus and swapped the orange from a rich forest green. He did what he had done to himself with the gray paint, covering Locus’ face in a liberal amount of the shade before painting on the large green X. Felix stared, glaring at the big open space left on his canvas before pressing the brush to the underside of Locus’ nose and dragging the green coated brush down the middle of the man’s lips.

Washington finally glanced away from the two men when Felix began to mutter to himself about what to add. Dante set his own jars of face paint on the table in front of Wash, “the face paint adds an added affect.” The man had locked himself away in the bathroom as soon as they made their way to one of the safehouses they had on stand-by and started the whole ‘painting face’ challenge.

“Like wearing masks to a heist?” he leans towards the hand cupping his face and shuts his eyes at the feeling of paint touch his face. “I thought we wanted it known that we were coming for them?”

He could really the man click his tongue, “oh they know. It’s more scaring the shit out of them while sending a message.” Wash could laugh this coming from the guy who paints a shark-like grin on every single thing that could go over his face. His choice of face paint almost the exactly the same as the helmet he normally wears.

The paint smeared across his lips and the hand that held his face left. The paint was cool across his heated skin, a nice touch to combat the stagnant muggy air of the safehouse. The radio played in the distance; under the sounds of squishing face paint and a breath puffing out against Washington’s face.

A chair was dragged across the floor and the person sat heavily in the seat. “So I’m thinking we go in a blow it up. Let you and Wash have your fun with your weapons that go boom in the night.” Wash could hear the clinking of Felix’s rings knock together as he mimicked fireworks going off in the sky. “Go in take what we want, kill anyone and everyone we see in the process. Whoever lives goes on and tells the boss that we’re coming.”

The paint was drying against his face when Dante started applying another coat; Wash could only assume that this was of a different colour.

“Sounds too easy,” Dante replied tilting Wash’s face back to start painting his neck. Washington finally opened his eyes and blinked at the odd feeling of the face paint against his eye lids. “What’s the catch?”

Felix shook his head, “not everything has a catch D,” he rolled his black encircled eyes at the notion.

Locus’s green, gray, white and black covered face appeared in Washington view and he stared down at the blond, nodding at what he saw. “Everything always has a catch with you,” Locus replied and stepped back out of view to begin mounting up with weapons.

“Oh shut the fuck up!” the smaller man stood, stomping towards the other. “This is nothing more than fucking with some little shits that haven’t paid us for covering their asses. That’s it. I did Tony a favour by waiting until he left town ‘cause he’s good business but everything else is straight to the point.”

Dante sighed patting Wash’s shoulder and gestured for him to start getting his weapons ready before they head out. As he stood Wash pulled out his phone and flicked over to the camera setting—Jesus fucking hell, Dante does have a talent with a brush. He tilted his head and took in the skull like design on his face and neck.

Instead of white face paint Dante had opted for a darker gray (the same colour that both Felix and Locus had their base colours as), and the yellow was the actual skull design.

“Do this often?” Wash couldn’t help but smile back at the man tossing the brush that he used into the sink. The man only winked back at him.

-XXXXx-

The car was parked about a block away, tucked around the corner and down an alley. Dante grinned and shouldered the nozzle of his flamethrower on top of his shoulder. He had brought the smaller style; the one fashioned as a gun with interchangeable gas tanks. _The huge tank makes me a sitting duck_ , he explained and yeah, Wash could see it. Could just picture a bullet tear through a tank on his back and he’d erupt into a roaring mess of flames.

Locus fires two shots into the wheels of the tires of the car that they pass and Felix mimics the move with the next car. “So news is is that these guys have a new stash of weapons they haven’t yet got to crack open,” Felix holsters the pistol and slides the two semi-automatic assault rifles into his hands, “I’m thinking we might as well take some of that stash for our own. Y’know, before blowing the place up.”

Locus chuckles “can’t waste good weapons.”

Making it past the front gate was all too simple even after they’ve announced themselves by shooting out two separate car tires. The first person who ran out, gun draw and shouting obscenities towards the four painted up men were met with a long stream of fire and suddenly the world was just a roar of flame and screaming.

With than both Washington and Locus split from the group, rounding around the cars and towards one of the side entrances while Sharkface and Felix carved a path up the middle. They wouldn’t have any communications on this little outing; nothing but the face paint showing the fact that they were friends.

Washington paused, ducking behind a car when the door slammed open and a group of gang members started running out, “They’re in the front!” And Wash could hear the roar of the flames licking against another poor saps’ skin—the screams easily heard a block away.

Wash stood, leveling the rocket towards the group and called out, “nah. Not all of them.” His finger embracing the trigger and the four gang members could only shout before the rocket tore through one of the bastards and the explosion took out the other three.

Wash pulled another rocket from his holstered collection on his back, ducking behind cover while he loaded the large weapon. With the new rocket in place Wash stood, hooking the strap over head and pulling out the shotgun he grabbed the blond his way quickly into the building and into the chaos.

A woman popped around the corner, pistol raised and Washington fired. The hole in her chest made him hiss turning his gaze away from the fallen gang member and continuing on his way down the corridor. He took the first door, opening to his left and jogged up the stairs. “Jesus fuck,” Washington and another gang member shouted and Wash fired first, the buck shot tearing through the man’s stomach and the pieces spilling out and down the stairs and Wash continued up.

He holstered the shotgun before he made it to the top, switching back to the rocket launcher Washington peeked he head up and quickly ducked back down when a bullet grazed his forehead. “Son of a bitch,” he hissed boots sliding on the metal steps as he readied his rocket launcher, pulling in a breath and then another because the first time he wasn’t ready. “ _Now_ ,” he hissed to himself and pushed up and out of cover, firing off the rocket and ducking back into the stairs when he heard a chorus of profanity and an explosion.

He switched back over to the shotgun and stuffed two more buckshots in and left cover. He didn’t want to load his next rocket in an open stairwell, not when he wasn’t sure just how many people were up in the upper level of the building. To his right was the railing open to the bottom level of the building; around a large shipping crate a blockade waited.

Locus had joined back up with the other two and Wash hissed, glancing back at the smoking room he had cleared. A smoldering table covered two burnt bodies and the second table had a deck of cards spilt around it—looks like Wash found the break room.

He pulled the next rocket out when gun fire broke out in the floor under. “WHERE’S MY FUCKING MONEY?!” Felix shouted, the sound of two assault rifles going off made Washington almost pity the poor idiots who tried to take them out. “OH COME ON! DON’T GO DYING THAT EASILY ON ME!” Even yelling Felix sounded condescending, the roll of his eyes evident even though Wash couldn’t see a damn thing.

With the next rocket loaded Wash popped back up and aimed towards the blockade. There were three people missing from the last time he checked and he’d blame that on Felix’s itchy trigger finger. The blond with the gray and yellow skull paint pointed the rocket launcher towards the collection of people well defended and _fired_. The rocket sailing in a tight spiral and the attack drew the attention of not only friendlys but foes alike.

“Blondie-locks!” Felix throws his arms out and grins. “D and I were starting to wonder where you ran off to! Should’ve guessed when the top floor blew up.” His crackling had Locus looking up and Wash gestured to the man to join him up here. Locus nodded, whispering something to Felix before he ran off through one of the doors from the main room.

Wash ducks back into cover when backup arrives and they discover his position. He slips as far back on the top floor, flipping one of the tables over (the one not covering the bodies) and slipped behind the upturned table. He pulled another rocket out of his pouch and loaded it; this was his second last rocket, he wished that he had more. He pulled his sawed off from its holster and checked the ammo; he was sure he loaded it again but it didn’t hurt to check again. It was full and he returned that to its proper position before hooking the strap of the rocket launcher over his shoulder.

Wash pulled the pistol from the back of his belt, checking the cartridge then flicking off the safety and turning his attention towards the fight going on on the lower floor. He leaned away from his cover, bullets still directed up towards the top floor and he cursed.

Boot covered feet slammed up the metal stairs and Wash pointed his pistol towards the noise, waiting until the green paint covered face appeared before lowering his weapon with a sigh. “All I have is a pistol,” he nods towards the railing, “I’m going to push this up to the railing to give you some cover but other than that I should go down and support the others.”

Locus agrees, quickly ducking behind the table and the pair quickly push it towards the railing. He pulls the blond towards him, their lips pressing together and for a moment the gun shots melt away and it’s just the two of them. The pistol held in numb fingers while Washington presses his freehand against the man’s painted neck.

He _likes_ him; shit.

Washington pulls away with a small smile, taking in the smudge paint around his lips and the blending between Wash’s colors and his. “The door to the main room would be open; I’ll make sure to cover your back,” Locus adjusts the hold Washington had around his pistol. His fingers lingering and Wash nodded finally pulling back and away from the man; Locus checked over his rifle, checking the ammo before stealing himself again and readying himself to fire back down to the remaining gang members.

Wash stuck around long enough to witness one of Locus’ shots go through the frontal lobe of a blond haired woman with their gang color tied around her neck. She dropped like a puppet that’s had their strings cut—Wash took to the stairs, boots nearly slipping in the pool of blood dripping down the stairs and the man’s empty gaze stared up at Wash as he passed.

This wasn’t the first time he’s seen those cold dead eyes stare up at him; he’s seen people he’s actually _cared_ about look at him like that. Had seen the emotions that those eyes could display before he put a bullet between them and called it a day.

He shuts his eyes and all he sees are the eyes of a woman. Her lips pulled up into a large wicked grin as she holds her arms wide at her side, the swagger in her step as she walked away from him. _What are you doing Washington?_ Her voice tinkles in his ear and he snaps his eyes open and steps into the corridor, following the sounds of gunfire and the roar of flames to the main room.

The door is open just like Locus claimed it to be, stepping through the doorway Wash spares a glance towards the sharpshooter and he finds him lining up and firing his next shot. He hears the shouts of the gang members and the loud joyous cry of Felix from behind the cargo containers. Wash quickly runs towards the sound gun posed and ready as turned the corner just as Felix slowly drags the knife across the man’s throat who kneeled in front of him.

The cloud of flames and heat forces Washington to turn away when Dante roasts the last of the gang members still fighting. The smell of burning flesh linger in his nose and the flash of the woman’s eyes trigger memories—so many that he had no time for.

_“Tell me again,” she waved the French fry in front of his face and he snapped at it when it got too close. “You shit!” she howled grabbing a handful of fries from her plate and chucking it towards him. “Don’t distract me, Washington! I was going to give you shit!”_

_Her brother started picking the fries off the dinner table in front of him, dropping his collection onto his empty plate. “I think that’s_ why _he’s distracting you,” he threw the teenager a soft smile even as she growled at him._

_Wash groaned running his hand through his shaggy blond hair that fell low onto his brow. “Can we please get passed the whole ‘Wash tripped the alarm’ thing and move to the point where I still made it out of there being a badass? ‘Cause I’d really like to ignore the dumb and move towards the cool moment where my badassery saved us all.”_

_“Yeah, after your ‘dumbassery’ totally boned us.” The only female seated at the booth rolled her blue eyes, blond and purple hair falling into her face before being quickly flicked away. “But okay, sure. You did good with the grenade and the jeep. I’ll give you that, kid.”_

_She knew that his age bothered him, the fact that he was sixteen and they were all nearly twenty (or twenty in some of their cases) and Connie was the only other ‘youngster’ and she was eighteen. She knew that he hated his age and the fact that that was currently being dangled over his head and that was the reason why he wasn’t being aloud anything other than a few heavy make-outs in Maine’s car. “Jee, thanks South. I can totally feel the love.”_

_South grins and tosses another fry at him. This time it smacks him in the face and drags a blob of ketchup all the way down to his chin before flopping onto his plate. Even her brother has to stifle a laugh at the expression Wash wore as he stared at the fry on his plate._

He blinks back into focus and Felix is rooting through the pockets of one of the gang members; pulling out wallets and weapons and a cell phone and tossing them towards the growing pile before moving onto the next corpse and doing the same.

Dante’s arm wrapped around Wash’s shoulder and he dragged the man towards a cache of weapons displayed on the wall. “You okay? Zoned out at the end there,” his voice dipped low into a whisper, his paint covered face pressing against Washington’s hair.

“Yeah, just...” he hesitated before just barreling on anyways, “remembered a good moment with a friend I had to put a bullet in.” The man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and Wash could only nod.

“Y’know. I hated you Freelancers for a long time; you guys killed a handful of my buddies before some bitch dropped the building on us.” His thumb rubbed a line through the paint on Wash’s neck. “In this lifestyle your former friends put bullets in your back; your former enemies become friends. It’s fucked up but memories are something you hold on to; hate them for turning into the person you had to kill but don’t hate them for being the person you cared about.”

Dante pulls away from him then, pulling an RPG from the collection and grins at the make as he turned it over in his hand. He passes it off to Wash and points to it, “we should paint that gold for you.”

Wash turns it over in his hands and tests the weight as Dante pulls another one out, "as long as we paint your bright pink.” He smiles and Dante grins back at him.

“Fucking fuchsia, make Felix jealous that he can’t pull off this bitching colour.”

-XXXXxx-

This was the first time Washington ever stepped foot into Felix’s penthouse. Of course the prick had some huge fancy apartment to go along with the cars he must have—that and the money the other two claim that he swims in. Wash would look into exploring the place after he took care of washing the blood, sweat, paint and ash from his body.

With a quick kiss pressed against Felix’s covered cheek in thanks, Wash made his way to the bathroom Felix pointed him towards.

Felix’s bedroom door was left open and Wash couldn’t help but give pause and take in the mess of clothes and blankets. Clothes were scattered about and Washington zeroed in on the bright red bra hanging from the ceiling fan—Wash raised a brow at it and shook his head, continuing on towards the bathroom .

The room was clean; bright white and he could swear that both the shower and tub sparkled. Wash closed the door behind him with a snort. Pulling a towel from the metal shelves and tossing the fluffy cloth onto the counter-top beside the sink, Wash made his way to that beautifully large shower—shit it had three shower-heads. A shiver rolled up his spine; oh he was going to enjoy this.

He fiddled with the taps, sticking his hand under the spray to gauge the temperature until it reached a suitable warmth that was _not_ yet scalding but hot enough to make his skin red without having to scrub. He grinned; kicking his pants and underwear off and hitching his shirt overhead and tossing it somewhere close to the door before finally jumping around as he fought to remove his socks. With his clothes finally removed, Washington all but jumped in the shower and closed the glass door behind him as he tucked under the spray with a heavy sigh.

He could feel the make-up beginning to run and scrubbed a hand over his face—over the paint and up into his hair without thinking. He cursed as he brought his now paint covered hand away from his hair and face to stare at the mixture of gray and yellow on his hand. The water ran gray as it circled the drain and with another curse Wash scanned the walls of the shower in search for a bar of soap to scrub his face with.

He was rubbing the bar over his face and neck when the door slammed open and Felix’s voice broke through the calming heat. “Fucking Christ how hot do you need that water?” Wash heard the man banging away through something under the counter and the fan flipped on.

The door behind him opened and Washington jolted when a hand gripped his waist and a man slid in behind him. “Just me,” Locus whisper tucking his nose under Wash’s jaw and placing light peck to his neck. “We thought you might need some help,” a wet cloth slid over Wash’ face, rubbing away the paint.

“I went overboard with the paint,” Dante supplied and he rubbed the paint from Wash’s forehead, dipping down to wipe over his eyes. Locus’ hands rubbed down the blond’s freckled legs as Felix finally slipped into the large shower as well.

“So here’s the thing, blondie,” Felix bats Dante’s hands away from Washington’s half cleaned face and pulls the blond down to slide their lips together. He bites, pulling at Washington’s lips before pulling away. “We’re in an agreement that we wanna all start fucking you,” Dante tips Wash’s head back and he hisses when the man bites and sucks at the skin of his neck.

“You want to go out on dates before that happens; Locus and I are more than ready to follow that.” Wash could feel Locus trail nips and kisses down his spine, sucking a dark mark on his shoulder blade before switching to the other and repeating. “Felix _agreed_ ,” the man stressed the word and Felix hissed out a swear before slinking back towards the closest shower wall and took to leaning against it. “He agreed to play by your rules,” Dante’s brown eyes locked with his and Wash couldn’t help raise his brow.

“There’s a but in there.”

“Can’t fault us for some fun though,” Felix replied with shrug fingers flicking at the bars through his nipples numbly; something to do while he watched the three in front of him. “Finger fucking? Blowjob? Fuck, even some frottage would be fucking _fantastic_ to see—wanna see that O-face of yours.”

“Oh, and you’re just gonna stay there the whole time?” Wash couldn’t help grin. Dante and Locus’ hands didn’t dip past his waist—they were _waiting_ for his say so, waiting for him to agree or turn them down. For hardened criminals Wash couldn’t help but snort and pull his face away from Dante’s hold. He turned in his position sandwiched between both men, pressing back against Dante’s chest and pulling Locus’ face back up to kiss him.

When Wash pulled away from the kiss Felix was leaning forward, “what are you suggesting here Wash?” his pierced brow raised as he subconsciously licked his bottom lip.

Wash grinned, “if these two can get me off to the point where my vision goes, I’ll blow all three of you.” He could _feel_ the rumble in Dante’s throat as he grabbed hold of Washington’s ass, his lips pressing against the back of his neck. Felix’s gaze darkened and a smile pulled at his lips as he settled back.

“Oh this is going to be _fun_!”

The thing with sex was that Washington never really knew where to put his hands; he wanted to push and pull his partner towards and away from him, wanted to feel them pressed against him completely. He hated it when they’d move away, hated not being able to bury his face into their neck or into their chest.

He hated it when his partner would go down on him, sinking to their knees just like Locus was doing—his lips and teeth carving a path towards his erect dick. He sucked marks over his chest, bit at the flesh of his abdomen and _stared_ up at Washington as he started to mouth the skin around his balls.

Wash had talked to many people in his line of work, learned a lot of different things about them. He befriended sex workers that worked street cornered, he’d talk to the strippers like they were old friends (they were actually, he went to middle school with one of those girls), he shared drinks and loss at poker to hired killers, he learned how to kill people from wanted murders and thugs. Washington talked to a lot of people and at one point most of them mentioned either wanting to be in a threesome or they’ve been in one.

Up until recently Washington never really thought about it, it never really stuck him as something that he’d do. Before this moment the last person he had slept with (and knew their name or was sober for) was Maine, and Maine was enough for him.

Felix tossed a bottle towards Dante that the man caught with ease; a bottle of lube and honestly, the fact that Felix had lube in his shower didn’t surprise him in the slightest. If anything he’d be surprised _not_ to see it. It was like a punch to the gut when Locus finally took him into mouth, hands securely gripping Wash’s hips as his tongue pressed flat against the head.

Dante took a fistful of blond hair and _pulled_ , pulled the man’s head back as his slicked up fingers slid up then down his ass crack until his middle finger brushed against the rim of his hole and he _pushed_. Wash keened, eyes fluttering shut as he chased the feeling of the warmth around his cock and the ache of being stretched open. It’s been too long—too, too long since he’s last felt the ache and even if the hand gripping his hair wasn’t already pulling his head back he’d more than likely end up with his head thrown back against the man’s shoulder.

Wash could do nothing but grip the back of Locus’ neck to urge him along in his teasing—his teeth dragging, just ghosting, along the underside of his cock and Wash couldn’t even look down to curse at him. “Arschgeige,” he was trapped between two men who wouldn’t allow his hips to budge for a _second_. Not to push back against that one finger slowly working into him, not forwards into the man’s mouth tonguing the head.

Wash wanted to punch one or fucking _both_ of them—just get them moving, drive them forwards, push him to his release. Fucking _hell_ he wanted it.

“What does that mean?” Dante slipped another finger in and Wash sighed; finally they were getting somewhere.

Locus pulled away with a pop, hard to hear over the falling water if not for Washington’s senses running rampant—heightened, every stream of water heightening the pleasure. The steam pooling in his lungs, each breath heavy with each inhale and puff of an exhale as Dante _twisted_ , scissoring his fingers within the blond. He was drawing it out, enjoying the twitching of the freckled man as he still fought to buck either forwards into the mouth sucking at one of his balls or back towards the two fingers teasing his hole.

“Its German,” his gray-blue eyes, pupils blown, opened. He tongued over his teeth as he wrapped his free hand back around into Dante’s black hair, pressed their lips together and sliding that tongue of his passed the other man’s teeth to press against the opposing muscle. “Should I talk dirty? Throw my head back and moan like a whore?” Wash grinned rolling his head as much as he could with the man’s hold still gripping at his hair, he glanced towards Felix. He bowed his back, eyes falling half mast, “c’mon boys you can do better than that.”

He let out a loud throaty whine for emphasis and Dante’s fingers dove in deep pressing up against his prostate and the moan that escaped Washington’s lips shocked even himself. “There we go,” Dante purred nipping at the blond’s earlobe, “c’mon let’s hear those screams.”

He massaged the nerves, alternating between _just_ grazing against it and pressing _just_ right against his prostate that had him moaning those promised words of his. Wash glanced back over towards Felix; he man jerked himself of slowly and he grinned that trademark grin of his when he caught Washington’s gaze. “Fuck you make the prettiest of noises,” he praised and Wash rewarded him with another moan when Locus took his cock back in mouth. “You take to it so well; have you been finger fucked before Freckles?”

Wash bit the corner of his lip, arching up his brow. “You think this is impressive, wait until you see me take cock.”

“You’re such a fucking _tease_ and you know it too,” Dante hissed in his ear, tongue pressing against the behind the cartilage and Wash couldn’t help put suck in a hiss. “Did I find a sensitive spot?” he slipped in a third finger and _twisted_ , pressing against the bundle of nerves inside him.

“Ah,” Wash’s eyes clenched shut and his mouth fell open to pant, sucking in a lungful of steam filled air. His fingers weaving through both men’s hair, pulling—pushing—closer, closer closer and _fucking closer_ still. He lost himself, forgetting his name as he chased the pleasure—the feeling of tongue and just the _nick_ of teeth against his cock, his balls being squeezed and fondled. _Shit—fucking_ **hell**. “Bitch. _Bitch—shit—fucking—_ I’m,” he didn’t know _what_ he was saying. Half of the words tumbling out of his mouth not once crossing his mind; if they were to ever ask him what he was thinking during that moment all he’d say to them would be that there was a pressure building and he was chasing it—chasing it like a man dying of dehydration and it was the beautiful oasis in the middle of the desert.

Words rolled of his tongue, catching in his throat as his eyes clenched—his world still nothing but a blind sensation of pleasure—and he came. Like a bullet tearing through his stomach; his breath caught, gut tensing and there was the sound of rushing waves in his ears. _Shit_ , now that was saying something.

It was a second before he rebooted; the feeling of lips kissing a path back up his chest, teeth biting into his shoulder, and finally a pair of hands pulling him away from the rest and down towards waiting lips mumbling praises against his lips and face as Wash stumbled forwards against the slightly smaller man. He was guided down with a hand in his hair and the other pressing against his shoulder; Wash kissed down Felix’s naked chest, tongue flicking over the bar through his left nipple before he slumped down to his knees.

His brain was back online; he was back to being Washington when he nipped the skin right beside the bar through that man’s bellybutton, he knew exactly what he was doing when he accepted the pierced prick inside his mouth. He took one steam filled inhale and relaxed his throat, remembering the last time he had done this and thanked the fact that Felix was _a lot_ smaller than Maine was. He pushed aside all the tricks that he knew, pushed aside all the tonguing and running his teeth _just_ right against the man’s dick to insure that it wouldn’t hurt, he pushed aside playing with that piercing and instead gripped Felix’s hips and sunk down until his nose was pressed against skin.

“Oh FUCK!” Felix groaned head thumping back against the shower wall as he thrust forwards an itch, pushing Washington’s head back—it all the room that Wash allowed before slamming the man’s ass back against the slick wall. “Look at _you_ ,” his voice breathless yet he still found enough air to sprout his praise, “just like that—ugh, fuck. Fuck if I wasn’t so close I would fuck that pretty mouth of yours raw, you know that right? I’d fuck you so good.” His eyes clenching shut as Washington continued to bob his head. “And those _noises_ you’d make—fucking hell blondie, has anyone told you that your mouth is fucking _sinful_?”

With four more bobs of his head Felix was spilling down his throat with his chest heaving, praises still spilling from that pierced tongue as he came.

Dante took his place leaning against the wall beside Felix, his hand casually pumping his prick as Wash shuffled towards. Wash glanced up at the man and he stared back, “you gonna last or do you want me to go easy on you?” Wash opened his mouth, showing off his tongue as he tried to fight the grin off his face—his post orgasm bliss now a fuzzy buzz in his limps, charging him towards this _playfulness_.

“I want to fuck your face,” Dante’s thumb brushes over Washington bottom lip and pushes it over and against the flat of the blond’s tongue. His eyes fall closed as he sucks on it, wrapping it between his lips and teeth—moaning wantonly, _dramatically_ , that had the other man hissing and pulling his thumb out before Washington could take anymore into that _mouth_ of his. “Open your mouth,” the blond’s jaw dropped and Dante couldn’t help but moan at the sight kneeled in front of him.

There was Washington, on his knees, mouth dropped open and eyelashes flayed out along his cheeks. He had face paint running from his hairline, carving paths amongst the water droplets that formed rivers down his face.

With a hand tucked under Washington chin; tilting his head back just so Dante began to pump his cock with quick flicks of his wrist. “Don’t think you’ll last?” Wash peeked one gray-blue eye open and his lips pulled up wider. “Don’t worry I’ll swallow,” and Dante groaned twisting his wrist with each pump, with each jerk until he was coming—he was coming with a hiss and spurts of white, creaming liquid against Washington mouth, tongue, teeth and chin.

And true to his word, Washington did swallow. He swallowed, slicked his lips and teeth and thumbed the fluid off his chin and sucked it off his thumb with a grin that had both Felix and Dante groaning.

Washington turn to find Locus seated on the other side of the large shower, knees apart and cock standing tall and proud as Washington made his way to him on his hands and knees. The blond pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek, down to the corner of his lips then down to his jaw before reaching any disagreement. Locus shook his head, pulling the man closer to him to press their lips together before guiding Washington’s hand down to his dick. “I’m fine with this,” he pressed another kiss to Washington’s lips that the blond was more than happy to melt into, kissing back as he jerked the man off.

Their tongues slid together, ignoring Felix’s scoff and comment of “of look at Locus being all _romantic_ ‘n shit.” Washington would rather this, the press of Locus’ body against his, with him swallowing down each uptick in the quiet man’s breath, each whispered moan. Washington _liked_ the intimacy of this more than the pure primal lust and _hunger_ with Felix and Dante—though he loved that still.

Wash _craved_ touch—he _carved_ that touch that Locus just ran up his back, that quick groan on his lips of Washington’s name as he came. Washington missed it; he yearned for that caress against his cheek, the intimate kiss pressed to his lips.

Washington missed _this_ —this right here—more than anything else.

 _And that_ is what would be what dooms him; what buckles his knees and force him into the icy waters of uncertainty.

 _This_ is what Washington is afraid of happening again—he’s afraid of another Maine. He’s afraid of another heartache. He’s afraid that _maybe this time_ he wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of that burning building.

 _Shit_...

 _Fucking hell_.

Washington _liked him_.

-XXXXxxx-

“Did you get the money?” fingers clicking against the keyboard were picked up over the communication pathway and the person on the other end huffed.

“ **O’course. Easy,** ” the accented voice replied. “ **Though...** ”

“ **Though** _?_ ” another voice cut in and the man continued to poke around in the databank. He scrolled through the wall of faces; not the one they were looking for. He closed that, tucking the information back to the appropriate corner that it belonged in.

“ ** _She_ would like to know,**” the man’s accented voice replied. A car horn started blaring on his end and he cursed.

“She’s already aware,” the man continued to pull up cameras.

“ **The Meta is out,** ” now that was a new source of information that he knew _she_ didn’t already know.

They kept tabs on all of them; who was left, where they ran off to, who they were working with, what names they were going by. “That’s news,” he pulled up the cameras in Los Santos. Bringing the mug of coffee to his lips and taking a sip of the bitter liquid with a hiss. “Where is he?”

“ **He found me in Cali. Blew up two blocks,** ” the man groaned a rustle of clothing getting picked up in his communications.

“ **Going to be alright there, Chum?** ”

The man continued to click away on the computer, pulling up one block after the other as he tried to pinpoint the explosion. Four men walking away, faces in profile and despite the amount of times he’d play and pause that damned camera he still couldn’t find a decent picture to blow it up and send to _her_. To prove to her of her point even if she’d rather not see it.

“ **A little crispy but I’ll be fit to drive out to LS in the morrow.** ”

“We’ll be waiting, see you tomorrow.”

With the communication link off the man ran a hand up and over his face, “shit.” He pulled at his hair and knocked his knuckles against the metal table under his setup of computer monitors. He released a string of curses and punched the desk.

If Maine was starting to prowl again then he’d no-doubt find his way down here. That man always had a Washington shaped beacon that could hone in on that kid anywhere. There was no question—no _fucking_ question that he’d show up and go hunting for Epsilon.

The only question would be how long would it be until he got here and if they could get to Washington first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Washington say? Well, he called them an assviolin.  
> What a lil cutie~


	12. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good dreams aren't always... well, good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on so many different stories. Been working on a Mad Max AU thing just cause I'm horrible and I'm addicted ;)  
> But first I have other stuff to work on!  
> Enjoy~~
> 
> WARNINGS: some vomiting and brief mention of underage sex (seventeen year old having sex with a nineteen year old)

_David grinned, head tilting up at his older sibling. He bit back the giggle building in his throat as he took in her horrible hair cut. “Sooo,” he bit at his lips to suppress the build-up of giggles still threatening to spill._

_When Elizabeth came out of the bathroom, all her blond beautiful hair shaven from her head and in piles on the bathroom floor her gaze never wavered. It never broke from David’s even when he started to snicker; he thought she was regretting her decision. “I won’t look like Mom anymore,” Elizabeth finally told him._

_David was wrong._

_-_

_“How can you always find it, C?” he glanced towards his sister who pointed out the big dipper. Wash tucked his arms under his head and hooked his sneaker covered foot on the bumper of the beat-up ‘who-knows-what’ car._

_“It’s not hard, D. Just look for this collection of stars,” she pointed out the spoon, “honestly.” She stared down at the fourteen year old spread out on the hood of York’s car. Her expression steeled when she remembered that Mom had never_ taught _David about the stars—about a lot of things— before she passed away._

_The two siblings feel into a silence as the other teens around them hooted, hollering at the fire as they goofed around throwing food at each other and passed around a flask._

_There was North and South; the blond haired twins debating what makes the perfect marshmallow—South liked hers blackened and on fire and North cooked his to just crispy._

_There was Florida gathering his hair up into a high ponytail, his hip cocked as he took in his competition in this little ‘dance off’ that York started with Georgia and dragged three others into._

_Carolina pulled herself up off the hood, her dyed red hair looking almost orange with the light of the fire. “You coming?” she pointed towards the group gathered around the fire. She pointed towards North and South, towards Connie and Oklahoma._

_Wash shook his head, “nah, think I’m just gonna stargaze. Don’t really feel like being all social, y’know?” Maine wasn’t here; had to be hospitalized after taking two bullets in the leg. He didn’t want to even leave the teen’s side but the nurses threw him out and the rest knew that he’d just find a way to climb in through the window if they left the youngest member of Freelancer to himself. Fourteen and fucked up on a job that lead to an injury—to_ Maine _getting hurt._

_“Just,” Carolina sighed patting her brother’s ankle, “just don’t stay here all night. Maine doesn’t blame you, no one blames you—asshole came out of nowhere. Anyone wou—could’ve been in the exact same position; maybe they wouldn’t have made it out of there like you.” Washington’s face paled and his sister cursed her wording, “you handled it fine, D. Don’t work yourself into a panic.”_

_-_

_North waved him over; Wash slinked in around the long way. Around barrels and crates, diving from one shadow to the other until he made it to the taller blond’s side. He lined up his sights, the sniper’s breath stilled and Wash mirrored him—turning to watch the man’s six as he took the shot at the man fell. “Word is that CSM are making their way to the basement,” Wash informed the other and spared the older teen a quick glance._

_“How long do we got till alarms sound?” the older blond inquired, inhaling and firing at the man that investigated their friend’s body. Another body joined the first and Wash glanced down at the watch around his wrist._

_“York’s working on it—”_

_“So maybe a minute, maybe an hour, or maybe not at all.” North sighed, answering his own question. He pointed towards the upper roof, “We should go find a better place of cover. You got my six, kid?”_

_Wash rolled his eyes pulled the goggles down over his eyes and the scarf up to cover his nose. “Just don’t get tired, old man,” he teased and North chuckled. “I saw a ladder further back around the building, that’ll get us in the right spot.”_

_-_

_The wind blowing through his hair, a milkshake in his hand and the roar of the engine around him as Maine sped down the highway and out of the city. Nowhere to go, no plans in mind—just the open road and the stereo blasting through the speakers (some rock tune—Linkin Park or something similar) as they sped down the open road. Maine’s hand heavy on Wash’s knee as he squeezed the sixteen year old’s leg._

_It sparked arousal within him—pooling in his belly and darkening his eyes behind his shades. They weren’t having sex—not yet, not until Wash was at least seventeen. And he had to_ fight _for that; fight it down from eighteen._

 _For a thug, Maine had remained firm in his ‘_ no sex’ _claim until Washington was older. Caroline didn’t care, she wished them much happiness in their relationship and that’s all he could really ask for after all. The others all claimed that this relationship of theirs was a long time coming—whatever that meant._

_Wash was just happy he could place a kiss to the older teen’s cheek, or lips, before and after a job—could hold his hand and curl up against him when they’d all go up to the overlook and have a bonfire. Just happy he could curl up and fall asleep in his lap and the old male would carry him to either the passenger seat of his car or to a bed._

_“Favourite drink, go!” Wash grinned pointing to his boyfriend behind the wheel._

_“Blood of my enemies.” Wash rolled his eyes and held out the milkshake for the older teen to take a slurp from—he did so with a hint of a grin. That lil’ shit. “Grossest colour,” the older teen threw back at him. This was a game that they’ve started long ago—fun, took the opportunity to learn about the other that wasn’t in a setting with bullets or blood, it was better than just the stupidly boring questions that everyone always jumped to first: favourite animals and colour (though they did eventually ask those ones)._

_“I think its like... rosé or something like that. It’s some dumb mauve colour that looks like a gray-purple. Carolina ended up vomiting something of that colour one night—can’t look it without shuttering.” That got the big guy laughing; head thumping back against the headrest and knuckles tightening around the wheel in his left hand. Wash couldn’t help but stare at him, his lips pulling up to smile back at him. “I love it when you smile. Have I told you that? It’s beautiful, like rolling thunder or something—just takes up the room. It’s great, you should do it more.”_

_-_

_A kiss to his cheek brought him back to it—back to the moment, back to the laughter as York pulled him up and out of his chair, throwing him over his shoulder and jostling him around like some prized kill. “Lookie here!” The brunette snickered, stuffing Washington’s face towards his sister, “I got me another Church!”_

_Carolina pressed a kiss to Wash’s forehead and the youngest Freelancer groaned, “You’re gross York. Go propose that threesome idea with North or something,” Wash yelped when the brunette squeezed his ass. The crew that gathered round chuckled—even Maine, that traitor, couldn’t help but smirk fondly at the scene._

_-_

_“So you’re telling me that you’re ‘fraid of flying,” four-seven-niner chuckled in his ear piece as he clutched at the straps keeping him in the cargobob._

_“It’s a perfectly logical fear!” Wash shouted back and Maine ruffled his blond hair—_ you’re fine _. Yes, he_ knew _he was fine, right this second, but that didn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach from wanting him to release them from the acid and fleshy prison._

 _“Oooh I need to get you up in a jet or something. Ooh I’m to have_ so much fun _with you, young one, so much fun!”_

_Wash never believed the others when they told him to watch out for the young woman only named after a series of numbers. He didn’t believe them until that crackle she released in his ears and the wince on York’s face before he slipped on his helmet—before Washington slipped his on as well and he could feel the chopper dropping in altitude._

_-_

_A slam against the car door and Washington pulled the taller male down to his level, “fucking hell,” he hissed and pressed their lips together. Hopping up and wrapping his legs around his waist of the man pressing the teen against the door, lips pressing down to his jaw, down to the freckles on his neck. “Just like that Maine, shit—yeah right there,” he sucked in another breath and groaned at the solid press of the car against his back and the body in front of him._

_“Can’t be quiet,” Maine bit and sucked at the skin on display, “can you?”_

_Washington could do_ whatever he damn well pleased _, it was his seventeenth birthday for_ fucks sake _and he was finally going to get laid. Some days it wasn’t enough to have three fingers buried in deep within him as he fucked into his own fist. Some days all he wanted was to stick his hands down the nineteen year old’s pants (fuck he was turning twenty in four months) and whisper_ dirty, filthy _things into his ear until he_ broke him _._

 _“I can show you just how loud I can get once you actually start_ fucking me _,” he hissed, smashing their faces together in a demanding kiss._

_-_

_Fire, everything was burning—Wash yelled out for them. Yelled out for his partner, gun by his side and Maine at his back urging the youngest member to continue on—to continue on and wait for them further away. Wash waved the man off, spurring him to carry Connie and South to safety, their unconscious bodies thrown over Maine’s shoulders._

_“Carolina!” Washington shouted; shouted for his partner and sister. She had gone deeper into the raging fire to grab the last of the files—_ I can’t fail the mission, Washington _. Wash didn’t_ care _about the mission anymore, didn’t care about anything else but seeing that aqua helmet appear out of the flames and in that car that they stole to make their way over here. “Elizabeth!”_

_Wash heard her COM go off in his ears, her voice breaking up and Wash couldn’t care anymore. Tossing the gun from his person, towards the cool air and freedom, Washington ran into the inferno after his sister and leader._

_The structure overhead collapsing, embers puffing up and dancing around him as he ran. He ran towards the heart of the building, towards the control room and connected with the one person he was looking for. She clutched the documents in one hand and the other pressed against a wound on her stomach. “Shit!” Washington cursed and quickly made his way to her side to take the pressure off._

_“Everyone out?”_

_Washington nodded, “North and Georgia are at the cars, Maine grabbed Connie and South.” Carolina nodded, the files clenched tightly in the hand that she had thrown over her brother’s shoulder as they scurried as quickly as possible out of the burning warehouse. “Almost there, almost there,” Wash whispered to himself. The heat only grew worse and he hissed when the entrance came into view._

_They made it; made it to the cars and then the base where the bullet was extracted and Carolina only flipped through the documents that they collected. To her it was just another day in their life; to Washington it was just another day his sister continued to prove to everyone why she was the top dog in Freelancer—why she was in charge._

_-_

_Carolina threw hat after hat towards him; the baseball caps bouncing off his head and Wash couldn’t help but groan when one bounced off with a loud_ thunk _._

_The woman laughed, “oh you big baby!” She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to the forehead of her little brother, pinching his nose and laughed all the harder when he squawked and batted her away._

_-_

_Texas was Allison’s twin sister—Carolina and Washington’s aunt—and quickly rose through the ranks of the Freelancer organization. She looked exactly like Mother, so much so that she refused to remove her helmet when Leonard made a pass at her._

_Washington would lurk around her, around Carolina and her as they fought. Washington had little to no memory of the woman; had little memory of his own mother except for pictures. Wash wanted to learn about this family that he never knew he had, he wanted to be one of those dumb kids who could link his arms with his_ aunt _and talk about..._ fuck... _Boys? Guns? Money? Politics?_

_He wasn’t exactly sure what one talked about with their aunt._

_He didn’t know what he wanted exactly but he_ wanted it _, wanted it so fucking badly._

 _His aunt wasn’t soft, wasn’t caring or had a gentle bone in her body when she’d talk to him. There were times where he’d grind his teeth together and wish that she’d stop talking to him like he was a child. Like he wasn’t just the youngest member of Freelancer. He wanted her to acknowledge that they were actually_ family _._

 _“You look just like her,” and one night he got it. The woman had found him on top of one of the safehouses; out in the country where he got to sneak up to the roof and try to find those stars that Carolina kept claiming were just so_ easy to find _._

_She took a seat next to him, “same blond hair, you got those same freckles on your hands—those ones on your fingers, same eyes too. You don’t look like a Church at all,” her own blonde hair reflecting in the moonlight. Everything always looked so nice out here, but that could just be the fact that he was a city boy. He’s been told that cityslickers romantized the country life too much.  “Though most of those freckles are all your own, you got way more than your Mum.”_

_Wash watched as the smile bled into the woman’s eyes, her hand cupping his face. He wanted to ask her so many things; wanted to know anything and everything. But he didn’t. He didn’t ask, he smiled and leaned into her touch. Wash just enjoyed the moment for what it was before their lives would continue on in the morning._

-XXXXX-

David woke in a cold sweat and the memory of Texas’ smile as the acid in his stomach bubbled and his eyes pricked. There were arms and legs tangled in his, an unfamiliar smell in his nose and a bed that he doesn’t remember falling asleep in under his back.

Everyone thinks that the bad dreams are the worst—the days that he wakes up thinking that he’s the memories of his father or the alpha A.I.

No, the worst are his memories. His happiness in them always veiled with a bitterness that his subconscious would carry from one memory to the other. They’d stack until it’ll end with Texas or Carolina or even Maine. Always that ‘ _you remind me of her’_ , or the days that he was feeling like he really hated himself he’d remember the conversation with Carolina. The one where she’d claim that mother loved him more—Wash was just three when Allison died, he couldn’t even remember her.

The happy ones were always the worse. He’d wake up as _David_ —as that kid who hid under the name of Washington yet never fully tossed that first name away. He’d wake up as the kid who’d think he had _everything_ only to remember that he didn’t. He’d wake up as David and quickly jump to the fact that _no_. _No he wasn’t just David anymore_.

David was the easiest to come back from.

But that was the one that hurt the most. That was the one that could break him, over and over again. David was the one that made Washington break out into tears and throw up in bed when the wave of memories would break from the dam, would assault his mind.

Washington was shaking, trembling tears already escaping the corner of his eyes before the heave started and he threw the arms and legs from his person. Crawling and sprawling over the body at the edge of the bed as he grabbed the garbage close to the bed and proceeded to hurl everything in his stomach into the trash.

He didn’t understand the nearly universal need to stuff a garbage can by the bed but he silently thanked who ever started it as another wave of bile rolled off his tongue.

“Shit Wash, thought you only get like this in the morning.” Felix groaned and he pushed himself up to lay a hand against the man’s lower back. Locus started to run his hands up over his shoulder, pushing Wash’s hair back from his face. He couldn’t move since the blond draped himself over Locus’ abdomen, couldn’t do much else other than press a, hopefully, calming touch to the man’s cold skin as he sobbed and vomited into the garbage can.

Dante pushed himself out of bed, flipping on the switch for the bedside lamp and left the room in search of a face cloth and mouth wash. He suspected that the man wouldn’t want to _leave_ the bed after he’s finished riding himself of his stomach contents.

Wash groaned, his stomach clenching on nothing. He hung his head, chin pressed against the lip of the garbage. His eyes felt heavy, so fucking heavy as he felt fingers weave through his hair and wipe the tears from his lashes. He didn’t fight it when a cloth was rubbed across his mouth, under his chin and again over his mouth before being directed to take a swing of mouth wash—he swallowed it, not wishing to hear what it would sound like when it’d join the contents in the garbage.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of this,” Dante’s calloused fingers joined both Locus and Felix’s as the tucked him back between the mercenaries. “I’m throwing out this cloth Felix,” and the man got a grunt in confirmation as he walked out of the room with the garbage can.

Wash was out of it again by the time the other man returned to bed.


	13. Bump and Grind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Clubbing Music Mix used by Eric Clapman](https://www.mixcloud.com/EricClapman/club-dance-music-vol-1/)
> 
> Well now I really really want Jell-O shots.

They broke apart, back to their own little corners of self perceived sanctuaries. Washington returned home to his cats and medication, to his wooden floor and friendly neighbours. Dante went back to one of his car stashes to work on the next vehicle that they’d need for a job—Wash had heard Locus mentioning something about black tinted windows and bullet proof tires while he was leaving. Locus would most likely return to his apartment; return to his books and quiet, return to his guns that he’d clean meticulously. And when he left Felix was going back to bed.

It's amusing—odd, and maybe even a little off-putting when Washington walked back into his apartment and up the stairs. He was spending so much time with them, getting used to the kiss and touch—their voices, their caresses. He was a _Freelancer_ —he had a price on his head that no one was bringing up, why was no one bringing it up?

“Oh good morning Daniel,” Mrs Cheng greeted him. Wash snapped out of his musing, out of his worrying—smiling at the woman and both her tiny dog and granddaughter.

“Morning,” he replied, combing a hand through his hair sheepishly. “How are you this morning?” he inquired pulling out his keys, he tried to refrain from fiddling—tried to focus on the woman whose smile turned cheeky.

“Oh, my morning is rather swell. Though,” she smiled pointing to her own neck, “I’m sure yours has mine beat.” Wash blink bringing his hand up to his neck and feeling the skin—he hissed, fingers pressing into his neck stilled when it dawned upon him.

Oh. _Oh,_ his eyes widened and his cheeks flustered, “I—,” his mouth hung open, hand covering what he could only assume was a series of nasty looking hickies. He cleared his throat, “well...” his cheeks continued to heat and Wash couldn’t fight the awkward grin from spreading over his lips, pulling up in the corners and wavering as he held.

The woman’s lips, pulled tight into a purse and her already crinkled eyes growing more pronounced as the silence stretched, as Wash’s eyes shifted from her to behind her then to his door down the hall. Young people these days, either so vocal about their exploits or so _shy_ —never that even middle. The blond began to withdraw, a step back followed by another—another and another until he was clearing his throat and bidding Mrs Cheng a farewell and a wish for her and her granddaughter to have a pleasant day. He wouldn’t describe it as running, never _running_ —more of... briskly _walking away_ before any more questions could be asked.

Questions like ‘ _who’s the lucky lady’_ and ‘ _have I met her’_. As much as he loved his sweet neighbours they were gossips, gossips who wished for him to take out their daughters and granddaughters. If they’d be accepting of his bisexuality they might turn and begin to include their sons and grandsons in their attempts to set him up—he had too many guys with him right now. He didn’t exactly _need_ the help at the moment.

No, he had a date with Felix later tonight—at a _club_. He had a date with Felix at a club; all loud music, sweat drenched bodies and _lights_. He hasn’t been to a club in a long time; too long.

He pushed open his door and slammed it closed behind him; Tigra and Mittens mewed and greeted him as he stepped further into his apartment. “Hello darlings,” he greeted his furry babies, stepping out of his boots and kicking them back towards the mat at the door. It was quiet, quiet as he padded across the living room and towards his kitchen to pull out his medication. His socks muffling with steps on the hardwood, the cat paws _pat-patting_ behind him as his two furry creatures trailed after him.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and Mittens quickly leapt up to the top of the fridge as soon as Washington moved on towards his pills, pulling the bottles out and counting out his medication. Tigra jumped onto the counter beside him, sitting pretty as he brought the pills to his lips then the water to chase it down. She only mowed for attention _after_ he had swallowed them all—until _she_ knew that Washington was reading for it.

He scratched under her chin, smiling as her eyes fell shut and the purring started—it filled the silence of the apartment, the space that needed filling after waking with three other people and their constant noise.

The breathing, the walking from room to room—the clanging in the kitchen as Locus stole the room and refused to have Felix _enter and fuck anything up_ (even though it was the man’s apartment). There were the grunts from Dante as he fell back into the couch and nursed his coffee, pulling Wash down until he was pressed against his side. There was even sounds to the kisses—the kissing that Felix pulled him in for before continuing to bitch and complain about the time... it was _ten_ , yet that still seemed too early for the mercenary.

He scooped the orange cat from the counter and cuddled her in his arms, pressing kiss after kiss to her head. “Daddy loves you,” he cooed running fingers through her fur and scritching the roots of her coat. He should brush them now that he has the time; brush them and maybe take a nap before getting ready.

Yeah, that he could do.

-xx-

“Kai, Girlie,” he pointed to either women then to the blond at his side, “Washington. There, now we all know each other and you can ignore that cover fee.” His pierced brows waggled and the women in front of him glared, glancing between each other before sighing and slamming the stamps to their hands.

Girlie gripped Felix’s arm, pulling the man close enough so the group of girls that Kai was taking money from couldn’t overhear. “Tell D to fix my car, he owes me that for passing that last job off on him,” her brow arched up in confusion when it was _Washington_ who nodded in confirmation instead of Felix.

“Wash here kinda has Lo and D wrapped around his finger, the shit talks to them more than he does me.” Felix huffed dramatically, shrugging out of the woman’s hold and sweeping Wash up and into the club—into where the main lights started to fade and the stairs led them down from the main floor.

It was a large club with an open floor once past the main entry way. A large bar to the left and up on the same landing that they just came down from, booths around the walls and the dance floor live and vibrant—a wave of constant motion as bodies moved; sliding, grinding together, hopped up on hormones and alcohol strumming through their systems.

Felix pulled him along, a hand secured tightly around his bicep as they pushed their way to the bar. “We’re getting a least three shots in you before I get you dancing,” he called, his voice carrying over the pounding music and Wash questioned just _how_ he could do it. Could remember just how high he needs his voice to reach for it to be heard.

Washington allowed the slightly smaller man to cage him against the bar, this crotches pressed together as he leaned forwards and ordered his shots—“throw it on the Felix tab” and that would explain how Felix knew how loud he needed to be. This club was _new_ , how the hell could he have established himself so well into this establishment that he had a tab set up and the bartender didn’t even throw him a look of disgust or distrust for that matter.

“I know the owner, his owes me _a lot_ but he’s putting the money towards paying for my tabs at all his bars and clubs—all ten of them, can’t say I mind it in the slightest.” The shots lined up behind Washington and they turned, a rainbow of six shots of different colours and Felix grinned. “Its Pride next week, so we might as well test this shit out before it’s all I end up drinking.” He winked dividing up the colours; orange, green and red went to Washington much to his surprise as Felix took the yellow, blue and purple for his own.

Washington nudged the orange shot against the yellow and both men grinned, tipping it down their throats and draining it in one go. Felix flipped over the shot glass as Wash puzzled over the taste of his, moving onto the purple Felix quickly threw that one back then the blue— _Bam, bam_. Simple, straight forwards. Wash took the green next and the sour taste made him shutter, reaching for the red quickly to chase the taste. He hadn’t had sour in far too long—his palate unused to the effects.

Felix pulled him in a peck as soon as the red was swallowed. “Let’s see what you’re like _drunk_ ,” he smirked, waggling those brows of his. He pulled him towards the dance floor, down those three stairs and into the thick of things—wrapping his arm around the blond’s shoulders and pressing flat against his front.

It was awkward at the beginning, remembering how to fall in sync with another person—rolling his hips with Felix, feeling the thrum of the alcohol finding its way into his blood. He couldn’t remember for sure what about his medication effected alcohol—was it that he feels it more? ‘Cause that’s what he’s thinking it might be... that and his lack of tolerance now. It was just a tingle spreading through his body, warming his joints and limbs pleasantly.

One song bleed to three, three turned to five—five turned to another round of shots and then more dancing. One song slipped to another, then another and another. Felix would come and go, bringing Wash away from the thick of the crowd as he got them drinks—they’d share some, Felix would slam back a few more shots. They’d come and go, between the drinking and the dancing. Felix’s fingers intertwined with his as he was led.

To the bar, to the dance floor, back to the bar and then back to the thick of the crowd.

His body humming, tingling under Felix’s touch—against the touch of another body pressed against his back before Felix chased them off. His ring covered fingers weaving through his hair, down his neck and shoulders and arms, they hooked and tugged at his pants.

“Look at you,” Felix purred, pulling him in close with an arm around his shoulders. “Been clubbing lots back in Freelancer?” he kissed him—sucking Washington’s bottom lip and pulling out, teeth dragging and scraping until it snapped back.

“Many,” is all Wash says before pressing in for the next kiss, “my partners were all _taller_ though.” He pulls away with that, shrugging Felix’s arm from his shoulders and turning—pressing back against the man with a grin, ass grinding back—he allowed his grind to be altered; a slower sway then the beat, a harder _grind_ against Felix. The man’s breath hot, puffing out in his ear before he began to nip—nip and pull and roll his earlobe between teeth and tongue.

One of Felix’s hand snaked up, the other down—down the front of his pants, the tips of his fingers nudging against the root of his hardening cock. Wash hissed, catching the moan as Felix pinched and rolled one of his nipples to hardness. “I swear I’m going to figure it out,” Felix hissed sucking a mark behind his ear, “I’m going to figure out how you’re able to attract people and I’m going to use it. Bottle that shit up and never strike out again.”

It could be the booze or the lust, “or you could just start sleeping with me.” It could’ve the fingers teasing at his prick or the fact that he could feel Felix’s hardening against his ass. It could’ve been the hickies he was sucking into his flesh or the rumble of his voice in his ear cavities.

He couldn’t say for certain why he followed him out the side entrance, onto the back of Felix’s bike and trusted him enough to drive them back to Wash’s place (because it was closer) and not kill themselves in the process. He couldn’t say why he laughed, jumping into Felix’s arms and wrapping his legs around his waist as he started the climb up to Washington’s floor. Couldn’t say why they were laughing like idiots when Felix slipped and they fell—Felix catching the back of the blond’s head before the stairs could knock him the fuck out.

“You make me dizzy,” Felix grinned pressing kisses to the clusters of freckles, all the ones he could see, on Washington cheeks. They lingered, grinding against each other on those stairs leading to his floor—exchanging sloppy kisses and loud, open moans. “Let’s go baby,” he pulled him up off the stairs, guiding him up the remaining stairs and into the wall by the door. Washington pulled him in close, a leg hooked over his waist keeping him close—keeping him flush. “I’ll fuck you nice and proper,” Felix groaned hitching Wash’s other leg up to his hip, “You’ll feel real good—so fucking good.”

They kissed—kissed like they needed it, like it was the only _thing_ that they needed. All tongue, all tongue and bodies pressed together and moans being swallowed. Wash pulled away, taking a handful of Felix’s hair and pulling his head back—back so he could bite and suck at his jaw, at his throat.

“Let’s go,” the blond panted, finally setting both feet upon the ground and pulling the door of the stairwell open—he dragged Felix behind him. Down the hallway and down the next until Felix crowded up behind him, grinding his clothed dick against his ass as Wash stuffed his key into the lock and fought it to open.

-xxx-

Kicking his boot covered foot up onto the table the man watched as the other fell into the chair next to his, handing him an opened beer. “You think they’ll fuck?” Dante couldn’t help but grin when Locus rolled his eyes.

“Felix will attempt it, but Washington won’t budge.” The blond was surprisingly firm with his beliefs even though he’d started to buckle since the first line that he drew in the sand. Leaving crumbs for them to pick up and trail after; a taste here and a taste there, his moans still ringing in his ears. Locus could only assume that Washington knew more than he was letting on—knew what he wanted, what he was feeling.

It was nice, quiet out in the desert of Los Santos where Dante made his main base of operations—with his cars and trailer passing off inconspicuously. “If we’re free,” Locus turned to the man, brow arching up into his hair, “you and Wash want to go for a drive? Grab something to eat.” Dante ran a hand through his hair; asking for _sex_ was easier than this. At least that was just a casual affair that didn’t have his heart pounding in his throat and provide him with the urge to bolt if the man said no.

Locus chuckled—a deep sound, as if unpracticed. Unused to the rumble that it made in his thought. “You and cars,” is all he says, knocking his bottle against D’s.

“I just got a Lamborghini, fucker, I need to get her out on the street at least once.” The raised brow he got in return weighed enough of an answer for him, even before Locus pulled him in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Who’s _all about cars_ now, huh?” Dante teased, relaxing in the man’s casual hold.

Locus and he had always gotten along, never really needed to push—didn’t need words to fill the silence. Not like Felix. Both more than content with doing their own thing together—may it be reading, studying up on the new formats for the layouts of their next jobs, cleaning their weapons. It was simple, even the casual sex was simple.

Just ask and an answer of yay or nay.

 _This_ —this though was new; the peck to the cheek and the arm holding them together in an informal embrace. This was an attempt, an attempt at what Washington wanted—the dating. Yeah, they knew that if they were going to date Washington jointly then it meant that they should attempt to work on _them_ as well.

“Shut up,” he brought the bottle to his lips, pushing the other man away with a ghost of a smirk working its way on his lips. And that’s fine, this was nice.

-xxxx-

Felix’s tank top lay thrown over the back of the couch, Wash’s shirt tossed into the doorway leading to the kitchen, socks lost down the short hallway along with Felix’s tight navy blue jeans, Wash’s own jeans lost in a pile just outside his closed bedroom door. In the bedroom was a different story, their last remaining clothes shed right before the bed.

Like following breadcrumbs, it leads to a destination—the bed in question. Two men grinding together, breath catching, lips and tongues sliding against each other as Felix shifted—catching both of Washington’s wrists and pressing them to the comforter underneath. The blond paused, breaking from the kiss and Felix hissed, loosening his hold on the man. “Shit,” his followed the skin up, upwards towards the stitches holding Washington’s wounds together—they were nearly completely healed, nearly ready for the stitches to be removed.

Maybe he tugged too hard? _Shit_ ; he wasn’t used to this sudden compassion. “This alright?” he inquired. He’d blame it on the alcohol; blame it on the notion of _wooing_ and _dating_ that has him caring. He’d blame it on Washington and him pulling a gun on him that first day. Who the _fuck_ pulls a gun and engages in a fight when they’re obviously the one outnumbered.

The freckled man licked his lips, “I don’t have lube.” Just like that—just like that the main event was rained out. Felix groaned, flopping onto the man under him and rolled his hips. He was looking forwards to fucking Wash too—looking forwards to hanging that little prize over both Dante and Locus’ heads for the remainder of their wooing period. “I can eat you out though,” but that, now _that_ peeked Felix’s interests.

“Seriously?” he stared, sitting up—oh hey _needed_ to see this, needed to see that Wash wasn’t just throwing it out here. But no, that smile. That smile gave it away, gave away just how _serious_ he was about eating Felix’s ass.

He followed him up, cupping Felix’s cheek and sucking on one of his lip piercings. “Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten eaten out.” His tone tantalizing, urging Felix to immediately lash to his own defence. It didn’t matter if the man was _wrong_ in his teasing—it didn’t matter that Felix had done many, many things in his life.

“I have,” he bit out, tensing when Washington pressed him to the bed—flipping their positions until he could trail kisses down his chest, flicking and licking and _sucking_ at his nipples—tweeking the bars through them. “So it was only _twice_ ,” Felix moaned buckling up, grinding his cock up against Wash’s chest.

The blond laughed, patting his partner’s hips and rolling him over. Ass up with Wash kneeling between his open legs—shit, what was he getting himself into? He kneed at the globes of his ass, sucking and nipping marks into the flesh. “Oh _poor Felix_ ,” he purred—yeah, okay Felix was really starting to second guess his plan of seducing him. Whose idea was it in the first place? Was it his? He thinks it was his idea... sounds like something he’d do.

He’s got them all fooled; got them thinking that he’s some poor inexperienced virgin who knows nothing about sex and the works. But that tune changes as soon as you throw him in a sexual situation—then you get this... this _minx_ grinning lewdly at you and putting Felix’s mouth to shame.

“You—” whatever he was about to say caught, caught as Washington pulled his ass cheeks apart and licked a hot, wet—holy _fuck_ was it hot—strip from balls to the top of his ass crack. Every thought stilled—stilled as his heart beat increased, pounding in his chest as that tongue returned and flicked against his hole.

Circling, flicking—not yet pressing in. Felix was moaning then, like a bitch in heat—hot and sweaty, hips twitching under Washington’s firm grip. His knees buckling, arms already giving out before Wash could even work his damn tongue in. “C’mon Wash,” Felix groaned pushing back against his face—moaning as Wash continued to lather him with shallow flicks of his tongue. Oh fuck, this man was a tease—a tease moaning and humming behind him, sending vibrations straight into him.

He plunged his tongue in, pulling Felix’s ass cheeks further apart—thrusting that tongue of his all the deeper as Felix groaned. He pulled away, back from the spit glistening hole to plunge a finger in—crooking it, ever the slightest. Felix cried out, pushing back and smothering his sounds in the sheets. He was falling apart, falling apart long before Washington’s tongue joined his fingers. Before one became two, and two became Felix _sobbing_ into the sheets.

“I hate you, you’re such an _asshole_ —” Felix’s bitching broken between cries of his pleasure, he fisted his cock. He just wanted... fuck he just _needed_ to come now. “You’re not fucking _innocent_ , you shit—fuck, ah right there Wash. C’mon, c’monnn _,_ ” he whined, biting the sheets and finally cumming.

In hot white spurts onto the sheets beneath that he promptly fell into. Washington’s throaty chuckles spurring another string of profanities from Felix. “I’m coming on your back,” Wash warned and that’s exactly what he did—before Felix could get say otherwise the tell-tale signs broke through his post-orgasmic haze. The grunts, the hitch of breath and the _fap-faping_ before the warm liquid splattered against his lower back, over his ass cheeks and up his spine.

“I hate you, you’re a fake—fake, fake, _fake_. You got the other two wrapped up in your game, but I’m on to you, you _sexy bastard_.” Wash pressed kisses to the man’s shoulder, flopping down beside him with a heavy sigh. “Don’t fall asleep, baby, we’re taking a fucking shower and you’re going to brush your fucking teeth so I can continue kissing you. Maybe return the favour,” he shrugs lazily, body not yet functioning properly—too loose, though he’s capable of rolling out his own cum and wiping Washington’s off in the sheets. Wash only grunts, yawning as he sits up and raising a brow as Felix wipes the last of his cum off his back and ass on the covers.

“I’ll cuddle up to you,” the man winked, rolling from the bed and catching himself before he buckled over. His mouth kept going, kept talking as the pair left the bedroom and across to the bathroom.

The blond flicked the shower on, testing the water and gestured for Felix to go ahead in before him while he brushed his teeth. He didn’t, instead he hooked his chin on Washington’s shoulder and watched as the man brushed his teeth. “You’re being cuddly,” he mused around a glob of toothpaste. Spitting out the foam in the sink, then quickly rinsing it down before it had a moment to settle, Washington finished his late night tooth brushing session by leaning down to take a sip straight from the tap.

Felix shook his head at his _date_ , and shaking his head _again_ when the man in question raised a brow in inquiry. “You’re so _fucking weird_ ,” he snorted pulling Washington in for kiss.


	14. At Your Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have names and a motive... yet what is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See i'm tempted to add a Carolina/York/North tag. Like... York/North have a thing and Carolina/York have a thing but the relationship between Carolina and North is platonic and /maybe/ some romantic, but nothing sexual between them. But that isn't really going to show up until later if so.  
> Mostly the tag right now is just a "well I'm casually throwing it in but its nothing serious". And the South tag is mostly because she is a very important character to Wash and the fact that he had to kill her has hit him hard--they were close so its understandable.

It was a dirty little place just out of the heart of the city, easy to slip in and out of—he checked his phone before deleting the contact and all the messages to go with it. The brunet slipped through the basement door, the heavy metal failing in slamming shut behind him as he pushed deeper into the unlit hallway.

“Yo, Carolina,” he called out, after pulling out a key and twisting it in the door. The nozzle of the pistol pressing to his neck and the man sighed. “Sweetie, you can’t get mad when I brought back your favourite,” the gun was removed from his neck and the woman plucked the Chinese takeaway bag from his arms.

“You better have,” she muttered, finally he could let out a sigh as he pushed open the door and two tired groans greeted them upon entering. “North, Wyoming,” she nodded to both of them as she took her seat. Plopping her boot covered feet on the small worn out coffee table York must have gone dumpster diving for—she nodded at the appearance of the safe house he pulled together. His monitors covering a large portion of the main room, the furniture all positioned towards the corner of monitors mounted on wall and his little metal desk. “You did surprisingly well with all the furnishings—too bad you aren’t this good when it comes to our _actual_ house,” she teased, pulling out her General Tao Chicken before allowing anyone else to grab their items of choice.

North had looked better—face a little green from driving non-stop while injured, a few nights rest would help clear that up.

Wyoming checked over his weapons again, making sure they were all put away in their proper places before taking his food out of the bag. “It’s all been quite dull considering Washington’s typical flare,” the British man mused, taking a whiff of the contents in his meal—his mustache wiggling happily as he readied his _fork_.

The wheels of the desk chair creaked as York scooted towards them, “you’re telling me. I’ve been watching lil’ Church make out with mercenaries, that’s one thing I never wanted to see again thanks.” York had a habit of talking with his hands, using his utensils as pointers to stress his points. “So far no sign of Meta or the AI unit though—and I’ve already combed through this city’s system three different times for every known alias for Davie-Wavie here, all safety deposit boxes and banking information, credit cards—nothing leading to it.”

Carolina sighed setting the box on the table. “What _do_ you have?”

York grinned at that, holding up a finger and pushing back off towards his desk where he swiped a touchpad from the mess and whirled back towards the group. “Well it says here, if the gun store’s cameras are anything to go from, that he’s purchased a large shipment of weapons—minigun, rocket launcher... ah there’s the flare. I thought I saw this baby a few days ago.”

-X-

The mask covering his face made it hard to piece together—was he bullshitting him or was that an honest question? The minigun at his side, stance firm as he guards the front door—Wash and Locus were on crowd control. “Are you _seriously_ asking me out right now?” Wash waved the barrel of his sawed-off at the crowd of people.

Every bank in Los Santos was under the protection of a gang—a mobster. With a city with as much crime as this place it was only _natural_ for the criminals to rule. The bigger organizations tended to control more than one bank—they’d get paid for their _protection_ , deposit the money back into it, and the economy would pretend to continue functioning like normal.

The only problems really was when the robbers would try to play smart and rob them—you weren’t _just_ robbing a bank, not like it was in other cities, no you were stealing from the organized gangsters. If they showed guts, weren’t already belonging to someone else maybe the gang would take them in. More than often though they’d be hunted down and gutted—made an example of.

Or... or the banks were used to declare war between gangs. Leave a calling card; make a show out of it. It was _all about the flare_ with these people—always about the drama.

Dante shrugged, “a guy has to eat at some point of the day, might as well have company.” It was surprising in just how easy it was for Wash to tell that the man was smiling behind his mask without even being able to see his eyes squint. “Plus Los Angeles and I want to take you out for a drive.”

Wash snorted, “Fuck it, sure. Your treat.” Patting the man’s straining arm before turning back to the main counter and sliding through the broken window and following the direction that Felix slipped through. Locus let off another rounds of shots into the ceiling, silencing any whimpering in the crowd. “C’mon Fox!” Wash shouted into the vault, grabbing two of the bags that Felix had thrown outside of it, “Shark and Los Angeles aren’t going to keep those main doors clear for long!”

Felix’s Fox masked face popped out of the vault, his steps light and free despite being weighed down by two other bags. “Well,” he huffed, skipping out the main area with Washington trailing at his heels. “As much fun as all this has been,” he stepped up onto a teller’s chair, then onto the desk before dropping to the other side. “I think we’re gonna have to go and _call this_ a day,” he purred patting some poor woman’s head as he past.

Wash tossed one of the bags to Locus before sliding back over. He pulled the blond in, “did he set the charges?” Their masks knocking together as the taller pulled them along and out the side door leading to the van that they stashed in the alley.

“ _Char_ ges? What—” the swirl of minigun fire momentarily deafened by the explosion deep within the bank, “—those charges. Of _course_. Why am I even surprised?” Wash muttered to himself as Felix kicked open the side door and the three men quickly ran towards the van parked. They threw the money in the backseat, Felix grabbing the wheel before either man could argue.

The wheels squealed, smoke gathering as the rubber burned on the asphalt and the two other men took their spots in the vehicle—Locus riding shotgun, assault rifle leveled and at the ready, and Wash in the back pulling out the canary yellow grenade launcher that Locus and Dante repainted the night before.

They kept their masks on—they weren’t clear yet. Robbing a well known bank with faces that were familiar in the underground did not bode well for business with the people that they were robbing from. “I fucking hate this thing,” Felix snarled, not giving a hair off the gas as he turned the corner—the van screeching, tires drifting then catching in a fishtail before evening out again.

Wash could’ve sworn his life flashed before his eyes—it was filled with blood, explosions and disappointment. Yeah, that wasn’t something he’d like to witness again. “I’D RATHER NOT DIE BACK HERE!” the blond snarled behind the Seattle hockey mask—the three of them, save Felix, went with the hardened masks while Felix went with... well, _the fox._

“Quit your bitching!” the driver quipped back, turned the wheel harshly again and slamming the side of the van into a police car that _wasn’t_ being fired at. He rolled down his window, “GET IN FISHDICKS!” he called to the man, crackling at the finger he was greeted with as the man ran towards the back. Wash’s bright yellow grenade launcher raised and releasing its load into the cluster of cars that Dante had missed in his massacre.

He slammed into the back, pulling the blond in behind him as the cars exploded into a beautiful fiery chain of destruction. The doors slammed closed and Felix floored it, plowing through traffic and pedestrians alike—he’d drive up on the sidewalk, swerve into oncoming traffic then back into the proper lane. He _never braked_ ; when he turned to yell at the two men, warn them of hostiles incoming he continued to keep that damn pedal to the floor.

Washington yelled, hands gripping the backseat as they drifted round another corner and the back flew open—minigun fire covering their escape. The gun cases strapped to walls, floor and the backseat groaned under Wash’s hold. The blond pleading under his breath for this trip not to kill him—he knew one day a car would kill him, he just wished today wasn’t the day. He wanted to live until thirty, at least until thirty!

“We have chopper inbound!” Dante shouted at the man spread out in back like a cat avoiding a bath. The blond groaned behind his mask, really _really_ not wishing to release his death hold on the furniture to take care of business. “Babe, I swear Felix’s driving won’t kill you _today_ but that chopper will,” the man tossed his mini gun back, bullets finally running dry.

Wash groaned, sliding along the floor towards the case that he stashed his prized weapon—hands shaking as he pulled at the straps and unclasped the buckles. Muttering about Pilipino men with dyed orange and blond streaks with the black dyed hair and questionable life choices as he pulled the weapon from the case and loaded the rocket. “Loaded! Line me up!” Washington shouted up front, climbing over the minigun thrown to the floor of the van and knocking his head against the roof when Felix ran up another sidewalk.

Dante’s hand found Wash’s belt and he held onto the man when the backdoors flew open again with a light push and a swerve. “I got you, just worry about the chopper. Felix can probably lose the rest of the cops once aerial is gone.” It kept him steady as Wash dropped to the floor and jammed his steel-toed boots into either door jams to keep the thing open. Dante’s glove covered hand still firmly latched to the back of his pants as he lined up the shot, ignoring the cover fire from Locus in the front seat, ignoring the sirens and the sounds of the cops’ bullets _tink_ -ing off the metal or lodging into the door.

Wash took a breath, held and fired. Cursing out every swear he could think of as the chopper started to swerve out of the way. “I need another sh—” the rocket took out the tail, sending the chopper into a wicked spiral onto the top of a building. “Rain check that,” Wash mumbled, un-jamming his heels from the doors and pushing himself back against Dante’s chest.

He felt like vomiting—holy _shit_ did he ever feel like puking.

“Lose them!” Dante shouted, pulling Wash in closer towards the backseats and scurried to close both doors. They slammed closed, windows shattering from police fire. “Shit,” Dante cursed, falling back to Wash’s hunkered down form. They were jostled around, sloshed from one side of the van to the other with Dante’s minigun sliding with them.

They didn’t know when the chase was finished and where Felix’s shitty driving began. Both lay there dazed (nauseated in Wash’s case), tired, and frankly... _sore_ , very sore (and there may or may not be open wounds now littering their bodies). 

-Xx-

The garage opened and the van slid in, knocking over cans of paint and into the metal shelving as the door slid closed behind them. When the engine finally clicked off was when the blond jumped from the car, rushing through the joining door that lead into the house and running until he found the first floor bathroom.

“Oh fuck off with that!” Felix snarled tossing the mask he was wearing in the large metal garbage can with the wood, takeout and fast food _shit_ they threw in there last time Locus and he had used this place to hide out in. Dante was dragging out the money bags from the backseat with Locus but he couldn’t help _but_ scoff at the man’s notoriously horrid driving.

“This is exactly why _I always drive_ ,” he shot back, slamming the door closed behind him and storming up the three steps into the house. They could hear Washington flushing the toilet, the sink running shortly after that in what Dante could only assume meant that he was cleaning out his mouth after chucking up his lunch that afternoon.

“ _Fu_ ck off!”

Locus and Dante set the money bags on the floor in the living room, falling into the couches with a sigh. It was quiet, even Wash moving around from room to room was done in a quieter fashion than normal—from him  kicking off his shoes by the backdoor, padding across the kitchen and towards the three men spread out of the couches, to flopping down on both Locus and Dante on the three person couch. “Guess you’re scheduling that drive for a later day,” his voice hoarse from the acid that he must have lost to his fight with the carsickness.

Dante grunted, fingers pushing up the man’s pant leg in-between the alternating caress and massage. “Seems so,” he replied with a yawn, closing his eyes as the silence dragged on. The adrenalin coaxing from his body as the blond haired man cuddling into Locus’ lap found his comfort—his breathing leveled out quickly, lulling Dante’s in to match.


	15. Take a Breath

Nothing but the open road, his two crime harden criminal lovers (yeah, Wash would think it was safe to call them that), and the radio blaring through the speakers as they sped along. Locus’ arm circled around his waist while Wash alternated between watching Dante’s smooth and comfortable driving, and kissing the man’s dark neck that was _just right there_. “I used to do this when I was younger,” Wash turned in Locus’ embrace, staring out the windshield as Dante sped past a station wagon.

“Maine and I used to just go off. Forget about Freelancer for the day and just drive, blast some rap or rock song. Anything we could find on the radio as we drove for the entire day, only stopping to eat and piss.” Locus’ lips pressed against his forehead, lingering when Wash leaned into the touch. “Sometimes you just need a moment to pretend you’re _normal_ , yeah?”

Locus chuckles against the finely shaven fuzz behind Wash’s ear. “Felix spends his time sleeping, always has. About seven years back he spent two solid days in bed, if we weren’t still living together I would have assumed that he died.” It was nice, just relaxing into the black leather seat with a lapful of the blond man and not a Felix is sight.

Washington grinned, adjusting in the man’s lap until his back rested against the door comfortably. “And what did you do—wait, no. I’m going to guess you spent the whole time reading, giving that you have an impressive library up in that living room of yours.” Locus nodded and Dante couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the mental image of it all—the man _relaxing_ with a large lovingly worn book and _reading glasses_.

The man slammed his palm against his shoulder, pushing him up against the driver’s door. “Enough of that,” he mutters, pointedly looking back towards the road.

“Oh don’t be like that, Los Angeles, at least you weren’t stuffed into golf pants and spent a weekend golfing after a successful mission—y’know before my crew either broke apart or died.” He shrugged, faking his nonchalant attitude about what had happened—how that aqua helmeted Freelancer scarred his face, how they killed his division of men. His thumb tapping against the wheel drew Washington to curl his hand behind the man’s neck and nearly climb out of Locus’ lap to press kisses to his scar-free cheek. “I’m driving,” Dante warned, not pushing the man’s face away.

He should feel disgusted by how much affection he felt for the former Freelancer—maybe at the beginning, maybe a few years ago he would’ve. Maybe if Manly, Sniper, Demo and Girlie had died with Pill and the Freelancer turncoat... then maybe he would feel more rage towards the organization that imploded and either killed each other in an effort to escape into the wind, or faced such mental side effects of whatever the Director was conducting on his own men.

“Yes well, you needed the moment of distraction,” Washington answered as he returned back into Locus’ embrace. “You were distracted anyways—something you shouldn’t be while driving,” he teased, settling back. Dante hummed, pursing his lips.

They drove in silence; zipping off the highway and onto the winding roads of the country side before getting on another highway just as the sun was setting.

They didn’t look to be returning to Los Santos that evening. Not after filling up at a gas station that had all the country folks gawking at the slick red paint job and the sheer fact that it’s a _Lamborghini_.

It was calm, the change from asphalt to gravel then gravel to dirt. Dante flipped the radio off, continuing to push the elite vehicle into a slow crawl up the path. He clicked his tongue against his teeth as Locus hummed, “this is one of your safe houses.” He took in the wilderness around them, the dirt that grew patches of grass in the long winding drive up.

Dante shrugged, “one of the many. Wanted to check up on this one make sure one of my old crewmates didn’t leave something for me.” He refused to look away from the path in front of him, didn’t turn his attention away from what lay on the other side of the windshield as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of a small cottage.

-Xxx-

**-Do you think you’re ready?|**

It doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t. He glanced away from the road, to the fiery shape in his rear-view mirror. An aqua figure appeared alongside a golden one, their musical voices ringing out in the quiet vehicle.

 _ **-** I don’t believe Agent Maine is prepared for this._|

**-There is no reason for The Meta not to be. Agent Washington should provide the Epsilon Unit simply enough. Humans are creatures that hold— |**

The man rolled his eyes at the Artificial Intelligence conversing with each other, so drawn in finding their _Alpha_ that their conflicting personalities and plans on _how_ to find the base program would allow the man that Maine used to be to slip through the cracks—to breathe in a moment of air before Sigma would burn that cage of his and stuff him back down.

-Brother. It seems that you don’t understand the relationship between your human and his significant other.|

He always did enjoy the sass that the emerald green AI unit would reply with, he’d hear about Delta from Washington—the latest gossip spreading around Freelancer, whom was caught in some dark corner that night with another. Delta would show the man pity, would sink down to his little mental cage and remind him of stories and gossip that he’s overheard.

**-I have no need to remind him off his transgressions with Allison’s son. He’s well aware of my opinions on that matter. |**

Yes, his AI always did have a startling obsession with Allison—with the Alpha, and with the two Church siblings in return. Though _David_ looked so similar to the woman that all those robotic voices would cry out for when they weren’t whimpering for their Alpha. It could have been Maine’s relationship with Wash that influenced the AI unit to pay such special attention to him, what ultimately made Maine start to distance himself from his younger lover when Sigma started to push for control during moments of intimacy between Maine and Washington.

 **-** Yes, of course Brother. Should we stop to question you instead of Agent Maine? Insure that you are up to the task at hand if David Church, not Agent Washington, is to refuse us of our search for the Epsilon AI unit? What would you force Agent Maine to do if David Church refuses to hand over the unit? What of Agent Carolina or Agent Texas?|

Iota’s calm voice is so strikingly similar to her sister’s, flowing beautiful in-between the conversation and sending the AI units into a silence—save Gamma who continued to poke within Maine’s head with Theta, cracking jokes with the tiny purple AI unit who _hated_ his fiery brother.

The colourful AI’s flicker in the mirror, returning to his head as Sigma’s flames brightened and Maine’s mind slipped.

-Xxxx-

He grunted when the body behind him rolled and jostled him into the other man’s chest. It was a hot night in the middle of nowhere, in the middle bum-fucked-idk, in the middle of the damn woodland wonderland that Dante called his hideaway _get drunk_ cabin—something that they didn’t _truly_ partake in though drinks were had.

David sat up without bothering to open his eyes, pulling his shirt overhead and chucking it as far away from him as possible. The blond flopped back into bed, curling up beside his well muscular partner and humming when the man rolled to his back and clutched David’s thigh when he threw his leg over his boxer covered waist. He could feel the man’s cock twitching under his thigh as his hand slipped up David’s boxer shorts to squeeze at his ass. _Maine_ , he thought with a hum and ground his semi against the man’s hip.

The David persona wouldn’t snap back so violently, when he was _just David_ , it was like waking from a long sleep. The name, _Maine_ , triggered his memories—this wasn’t Maine. The Maine he knew and loved was gone and has been for awhile.

“Wash,” and just like that he was curled up against Dante with the man’s beer smelling breath puffing out against his face. Washington hummed, pressing his lips to his jaw—this wasn’t the worst thing he’s come back to. Remembering one lover only to come back to one of the present ones; yes, _this_ was fine. At least this lover was from the same gender as Maine.

He ground his crotch against Dante’s hip again, “it’s me,” he answered. The dark haired man rolled them over, caging the blond’s head between his arms. He could only see the silhouette of the man’s form, could feel the long strands of the man’s silk like hair brush against his forehead as he stole a kiss—then another with a grind of their hips.

Wash groaned, wrapping an arm around the man’s back and pulling him flush with an exhale when the man’s weight flopped on top of him. He shushed him, “don’t want to wake Los Angeles, he’s got a wicked temper when his beauty sleep gets interpreted.”

Washington huffed, “is that so?” With his feet hooked around the back of Dante’s legs Wash grinds their underwear covered pricks together, “what _ever_ shall we do about these then?” Dante’s body stiffened as ideas raced through his mind.

He spurred into action, pushing and crawling towards the edge of the bed with Washington still clinging to him. “Let’s migrate before we wake sleeping beauty,” he could feel his smile against his jaw when Dante nuzzled against his jaw, hiking Wash’s legs higher around his waist and pulling both of them up and out of the bed.

They slipped from the bedroom; Dante toed the door relatively shut behind them before dumping Washington onto the couch and dropping between his knees. “I owe you for that time in the shower,” his hands slid down Wash’s chest, middle fingers rubbing at the blond’s nipples until they grew tight—erect and firm—before slipping down his stomach and over the fine blond hairs leading down into his boxers. “The others got their own taste of Wash and its able time I did as well,” Wash shivered at his tone, fingers carting through his dark hair and brushing it back away from his forehead as he kissed and nipped at the flesh around the man’s bellybutton.

Wash licked his lips, pushing off the cushions when the man made to pull his underwear down his legs. Sucking in a breath, Wash clenched his eyes shut—breath against the head of his cock, a tongue pressing and dragging up to press against the slit. Wash hissed, bucking up towards the man’s mouth before those strong calloused hands clamped down upon his hips and pressed them back into the cushions. “Ah, ah,” the man hummed as he dipped lower, sucking at one of Wash’s balls—pulling back while still suckling upon one.

Wash groaned, whined when the man eased his suction and sat back to admire him in the limited light—going more off memory and an imagination as to what he would look like. It wasn’t difficult, wasn’t difficult in the slightest to picture Wash with his mouth slightly open as he bit, sucked and licked at his lips while staring down at Dante with a half lidded gaze frame by long brown lashes.

Dante relented, licking a track back up the man’s cock before sucking at the head—enough with the teasing, enough with drawing it all out. It was hot and sticky; he wanted to taste him, feel him buckle and _fall_ beneath his hands and to his mouth. His hummed drowned out by the long drawn out moan falling from the blond’s lips as his head rolls back and he stutters under the sucking—the bobbing and vibrations stimulating his cock as Dante takes him deeper and with ease.

“ _Shit_ D,” Wash’s eyelids fell shut, head thumping against the back of the couch as he moaned—moaned, groaned, whined and whimpered. Dante pulled out all the stops, all the tricks from his imagined sleeves—gracing his teeth against the underside of his cock, sucking and swirling his tongue around the tip, the tip of his middle finger slipping south past the man’s balls and circling his hole. “I’m cumming— _shit,_ ah **fuck** Dante.”

It tasted salty, much like cum tended like tasting—swallowing it down without a flinch, ignoring the taste of the liquid itself and focusing on the individual it belonged to. Dante licked his lips, wiping the saliva that had escaped to his chin as he stood and adjusted his cock. “Let me help,” Wash’s fingers weaved with his and he gave him a small tug.

“No need, sweetheart,” he could help but bat the blond’s hand away when he reached towards his boxers—his damp and cooling boxers. Fuck it, he was sleeping naked. “Let’s get back to bed,” he plastered a smirk back on his lips and dipped his voice into a suggestive rumble, tugging the man up and dancing back and away from him when he went to pull Dante towards him.

Its only when Dante stripped of his boxers, leaving them on the floor with the rest of his clothes and crawls back into the bed behind Wash does the blond voice his thoughts. “Did you cum in your boxers?”

Dante’s cheeks darkened, his breath escaping all in one mighty exhale. “No,” he tucked himself further into Washington’s back, ignoring the shuffles—the jostles that rocked the bed as he silenced his laughing. “You’re hot as fuck, blame yourself for that,” he tried to reason, to excuse how very... _high school_ it was of him. Fuck, he hadn’t creamed his pants like that since ninth grade when he was eating a girl out for the first time.

-Xxxxx-

The fresh cup of joe greeted him when York blindly made a move to pluck it from desk. He hummed at the warm liquid against his tongue as he browsed through cameras upon cameras. “You should come to bed,” North’s fingers combed through his hair, brushing the unruly and un-gelled brown strands of hair back away from his forehead.

It’s what he always says, even back when they had their AIs—before stumbling on the shell of the man they knew as Maine.

York sighed setting his mug back down and typing out a line of code, a command after. “You know I can’t do that ‘Lex—Wash is out of town and the Meta is starting to close in, he’s the next city over and knowing... well,” the corners of his eyes soften as he glanced up at his lover, “knowing how Maine drives he could already be here.”

It took years of practice, years of patience, to just reach over the man and press the appropriate keys to turn the monitors into a sleep. It was something he picked up back in their youth (that along with the need to expand on his ‘seemingly endless’ amount of patience), when it was all just starting out. Back when York and he were on and off just as constant as York and Carolina—the brown haired man unable to decide who he wished to be with more, yet never thinking that he could be with both. North liked to joke that he was born with patience, having to deal with South as his sister. His patience was constantly pushed to its limits now with having York and even Carolina as a partner—Carolina more strictly as platonic, maybe a few romantic notions between the two of them, but ultimately it was York who held his sexual appetite.

“The Meta will arrive when the Meta arrives,” North answered, accepting the man’s hand and helped tug him from his chair. “You’ll just hurt yourself by pushing yourself this far.” York stumbled behind him as he led the way to the furniture the three of them labeled _their bed_ ; nothing like the king size they had in their house but it did the trick. “Get some rest, return to your monitors in a few hours,” North cooed as he tucked the man between Carolina and he, smiling as the sleeping woman snuggled closer and North did the same.

“‘ight Alex,” York yawned, snuggling down between his two partners.

“Goodnight Shaun.”


	16. Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix tries to get away with paying someone in a unique way only for Wash to pay the price.

Three days.

Three days since that drive out into nowhere, three _fucking_ days and he had nothing but a pistol in his hands as he glared at Felix ducking behind the car just to his left. “So I didn’t pay some pricks,” he shrugged nonchalantly, like he was discussing the weather rather than hiding from bullets. “They were shit to begin with—I _did_ say that if they fucked up I wasn’t paying them for shit!”

Locus glared at his long time business partner. “Felix,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “you informed me that you _paid_ them.”

Felix hummed, hand tilting in a so-so movement. “I slept with a couple of them, I mean, that should have been _plenty_!” He waved the hand holding the pistol in a smooth tight circle, “my ass is worth a lot Locus, you just don’t appreciate it and its _worth_.”

“And clearly this is you thinking too highly of just how much sex with you is worth,” Dante poked his head up and fired four bullets towards the car that their attackers had ducked behind. Two bullets finding home into a target and downing them; unsure if he was dead or not—though now it was two verses four and Wash liked those odds better than when they were outnumbered. He dropped back down beside Washington and rolled his eyes at the blond. “Sex with Felix is like pulling teeth—you pay a shit ton of money for it, are supposed to thank him when you’re done, and it’s painful as fuck. He either pulls out a knife, screams in your ear, claws the ever loving fuck out of your back or teases you to the point of multiple orgasms and leaves you to your hand.”

The dreamy smile that it illicit on Felix’s face speaks volumes and so too did the wistful sigh that followed. “I forgot that I treat you worse that my normal fucks—c’mon D, you keep saying you like it rough. Can’t handle it all of a sudden, big boy?”

Wash rolls his eyes and checks his magazine. It wasn’t looking good and their car was across the street from where they were currently. Dante glanced towards him when the blond nudged him with his boot, nodding towards the car. Those groceries they were shopping for were long forgotten, smeared across the road and sidewalk after the first car pulled up. Dante nodded in understanding, turning to the other two with a sharp whistle and relayed the message. _Get to the car._

But, getting to the car meant that they’d have to cross the street—a street currently in the middle of two groups of individuals with firearms. Washington sucked in a breath, readied his gun and left the safety of his cover.

He wouldn’t check to see if the others were following—wouldn’t check to see where the enemies were located,

He got about halfway without a bullet being fired, without tasting a close call of a piece of metal whizzing by his head or digging into his skin. No, instead Washington was greeted by an old and familiar foe and a too late call of warning from Locus before he ate shit. Up onto the hood of the car, shoulder catching the windshield before flipping over the top and cracking his head against the cement—all Washington could think in those five seconds was _shit_ , _ow_ , and _why do cars hate me?_

 It would make sense later; why no one was firing—no they were waiting for backup. It would make sense when they explain it to him in bits and pieces as he stares up at them in confusion. But for now, Washington was signing off from the waking world as his head felt like it was splitting open and he couldn’t feel his left arm.

-XX-

“You have a concussion, Wash,” Locus explained to him for the third time. Each time they woke him up from his little pain induced nap they’d have to explain the situation over again. Felix didn’t pay one of the gangs they illicit help from for one job, they hunted them down and opened fired, Washington was running to the car so they could make their getaway, their opposition called in reinforcements and they arrived just as Washington was crossing. “We reset your shoulder as well. No breaks, just some road burn and trauma to your head—you’re lucky,” the first time he meant it more, meant it more the second time.

For the third... well, he was starting to regret the choice of words. It wasn’t so much of bad luck and good luck. Wash seemed to have a horrible standing with being injured, yet he tended to bounce back quickly, tended to shake it off like duck did water.

But unlike the other two times Wash finally glanced around him, taking in the cat curled up on his stomach and the decor that did not belong to his apartment. “Did you bring my cats over?” Mittens poked his up from his sleeping position on the blond’s belly. His speech slurred, arms trembling as he attempted to push himself up.

“As well as your medication and everything needed to care for your cats. Yes, we brought your cats over.” Felix pushed past Dante lingering back in the doorway, past Locus to help Wash sit up. “Careful there, sweetling, move too quick and you’ll likely make yourself sick.”

He felt bad and he’d never admit to his heart stopping as he witnessed Washington flip over that car and crack his head against the cement. He’d never admit that he stopped his running and actually _turned into the path of the car_ to take in Washington’s fallen form, he’d never admit that the reason why he wasn’t injured was because Dante tackled him out of the way.

It wasn’t every day that Felix would think that something was his fault. Wasn’t every day he’d hiss out, _“I fucked up”_ loud enough for either Locus or Dante to hear. But they heard that; heard him fuss over the blond in the back seat as they drove to that back alley doctor they knew to check his head out. Washington waking every so often when Felix would force him to _look at him_ —to say something, anything (Wash could only groan and weakly push the man’s hand away from his face).

He slipped another pillow behind Washington, lowering him back down much to the man’s disappointment. “I’ve had concussions before,” Washington tried to reason with Felix’s sturdy hold keeping him against the pillows, “It’s nothing to freak out about.” It would’ve sounded better if his voice was lethargic, coming out slightly slurred at the end. Locus set Mittens down beside Washington and the black and white cat curled up comfortably.

“A concussion is an injury to your brain, Washington, and we’ll treat it with the severity that it deserves.” The blond huffed, rolling his eyes—regretting his choice when a wave of nausea spiked and Wash stiffened, waiting for the feeling to pass. “We have your medication that says to take once daily as well as some prescription grade painkillers if a headache develops.”

Dante crossed a leg over the other, finally speaking up, “we can’t spend all day with though, a new job just came in and Los Angles and Fuckface need to go plan for that.” He stares at them pointedly and Felix bares his teeth at the man, “ _you’re_ the one that took the job!”

Felix huffed, slowly pushing himself off the bed and knocking his shoulder against Locus’ to get to the man. “I was _trying_ to be nice, you fucking prick,” he pushed against Dante’s chest, palms firmly planted in the middle of his chest and shoving again. “Don’t be a douche D, you’re getting your alone time with him for the next week.” Another shove, one that Dante laughed at. Grabbing the man’s wrists and pulling him in close, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ll try not to become his favourite,” he winked, pulling Felix away from him before he could go for the jugular.

-XXx-

The apartment fell silent after Locus and Felix left to chase their lead out of town. Taking their phones, weapons and the car that Dante had driven to Locus’ apartment with when they left. They said it’ll take about a week’s time before they see them again, that they’re more than welcome to just stay at Locus’—the fridge and cupboards were full, the apartment had AC, Locus’ bed was big and Washington’s cats were now here. It’s not like they had any reason to leave now.

Dante tucked himself half under Wash, humming when the man threw and arm and leg over him and got comfortable. “I’m going to be waking you up every couple of hours. Doctor said it was a minor concussion but at least for the first day we should constantly check on you,” Dante explained, fingers creeping up the back of Wash’s shirt to trace over the dip in his spine.

Wash nodded his understanding, falling back to sleep without a moment of hesitation afterwards.

It set the tone for the rest of the first night. Wash would sleep most of his day away, save for when Dante would gently wake him and get him to eat and drink something. Throughout the whole day the elder man was typically laying in his spot tucked slightly under him, only really leaving to make a meal or grab another bottle of water or take a piss. It was a day mostly chalked up to snoozing and cuddling with the two constant furry shapes of cats that wouldn’t leave Wash’s side.

The second day saw to Wash leaving the bed and climbing into the bathtub with Dante. It was nothing but a bath, a new location to cuddle in. “How’s the shoulder,” Dante questioned, pressing a kiss to the shoulder they had to pop back into place.

“Tender, can’t really support much of anything,” he answered, turning to press a kiss to the man’s cheek as Dante ran the cloth up his freckled chest. Hand and cloth lingering over the Freelancer tattoo before quickly sliding back down to clean the rest of Washington’s chest. “I can’t really move quickly either or the nausea threatens to actually make me spill my guts, but the pills are working. The dissociation that I typically have ‘cause of Freelancer doesn’t seem to want to touch this,” he gestured to his head, “concussed mess. So, small blessings.”

That day was spent in boxers watching animal documentaries at a low volume on the living room couch with the two cats curled up together on their feet. A throw blanket covering the two men as Wash slipped back into a doze; waking when the man under him would have to get up to go to the washroom or start dinner. Wash only really removes his ass from the couch when the clock reads 10PM and he pulls Dante to bed with him, having grown used to sleeping with the man now.

If his brain wasn’t injured, if Wash wasn’t as _tired_ as he was he’d worry about it—worry about how quick it all feels though it’s been over two months since the messy first meeting of these three men that ruined his perfectly quiet retirement. He’d worry about how fast he was falling for Locus, for Dante—how he was growing exceptionally fond of Felix who, up until meeting him held no similarity to the types Wash found himself finding attractive before. Felix was a new situation of itself, but not an unwelcome one—if anything it was refreshing, refreshing and new and... well, _difficult_. The attraction with Felix would require work but Wash could tell that it wouldn’t be wasted, that the dedication that he were to put into it would be reaped throughout his relationship with him.

“Let’s go to bed,” Wash tugged at his hand, humming in content when the man turned off the television and lamp and pushed into his space. Kissing his cheek, his jaw, and finally his neck. His laugh falling from his lips like an exhale, tipping his head back as the man continued to kiss and nip, bite and suck barely there bruising to his freckled neck. “D, I’m not really up for any sexy times,” he warned the man, cursing himself and his concussion—the vertigo he was starting to feel the longer he stood there with his head tilted back and the man’s lips against his throat.

“Just kisses,” the man replied, “just kisses.” His lips, tongue, and teeth carved a path back up to his lips. Hands cupping Washington’s face as they kiss, tongues casually sliding against each other before Wash pushed away. “Bed,” he reminds the other, “you can have more kisses then.”

The third day is spent puttering around Locus’ apartment while Dante goes out to grab himself some beer and spend an hour or two at the gym to work out some pent up energy now that Wash isn’t spending most of the day sleeping. Wash could understand the man’s need for time to himself, Dante was always a guy who had to be doing something—working out, tinkering with one thing or another. Wash was touched that he still would take a break from his workout to call Washington and make sure that the man was doing okay or if he needed anything from the store.

Washington day was mostly spent playing with his cats, scratching their bellies when they’d return the mouse and flop over on their backs for the blond to lather their bellies with loving. Dante returns with a case of beer and two bags of groceries, along with some more clothes from Wash’s apartment. While unpacking the bag of food Dante hands Wash a cat toy—a stick with a cord attached to the end along with a mouse that had feathers for a tail that chirps when moving. The cats went nuts for it, playing with it for hours until Wash had to go to bed earlier than the day before.

The fourth day was when Washington got a phone call from Locus—job was going fine, Felix was being a douche (Felix stole the phone and went on a tyrant of how he _wasn’t_ being one), they were worried about how Wash was feeling and if the symptoms were starting to lessen. Wash felt a pang in his heart, a clench when Locus’ voice dipped into a whisper to ask him how he was feeling, if he needed to pull some connections to get the doctor to make a stop at his apartment.

“I’m fine, Lo,” Wash whispered back despite it being unnecessary. Wash kicked Dante out to go pick up his friend’s son who had to leave school early because he was sick—something about him owing the guy favours after working a couples of jobs with him years ago. He traces the lines of scars on his neck in bathroom mirror, “the dizziness doesn’t really show up unless I’m really tired. I’ve been napping less and I’m actually moving around. Though, I haven’t left the apartment.”

There’s movement on the other side as Felix starts up another bitching contest with one of their mercenaries they hired. They had to chase their target to New York City, something that none of them with thrilled about. Locus excuses himself, and Wash sits on the lip of the bathtub as he listens to the man leave the room and most likely the building when Wash’s ears were assaulted with the sound of rain falling on the other side.

“I’m not familiar with this city,” Locus sighs, and Wash could hear the flick of a lighter and the man suck in a drag from a cigarette. He wasn’t aware that Locus smoked. “We have a few of ours out gathering intel as I speak, though it’s a large city and I’m unsure of just how long this would take. Our employer had said the target had nowhere to run, no outside help or allies.” His frustration clear as he exhaled heavily before sucking in another drag.

“D and I won’t leave here till you guys get back. Just worry about shit on your end, don’t eat the street meat, you cook better than the street venders anyways, and watch each other’s backs.”

Locus sighed; this one sounding more humored than the frustrated ones from before. “Washington,” his tongue clicked against his teeth, a silence spreading between the two.

Wash felt it again, that little clench around his heart as butterflies started fluttering against the lining of his stomach. “I miss you,” he admitted, pinching his eyes shut—he didn’t want to just blurt that out. Didn’t want to just admit to it so easily. “So get back here soon, yeah? I’ll give you a welcome home kiss and everything.”

He was blushing, hand nearly crushing his phone as he listened to the man breathe on the other end. Heart beating a mile a minute when he finally replied. “And I you, Wash. I’ll be expecting a kiss as soon as I get in the door.” And Wash could’ve sworn that he heard him kiss the air, sending a kiss through the phone before hanging up.

The fifth day was spent in Locus’ bed with Dante’s weight pressing him into the sheets. The boxers sliding down their legs and falling to the floor without a second thought, bodies quickly crawling under the covers as hands wandered over the expanse of skin. Lubed up fingers pressing into Wash’s ass, slowly thrusting in and out of him as the couple took on their familiar sleeping positions. Washington’s thigh rubbing against Dante’s balls, up to the base of his cock as the man moaned into Dante’s neck.

“Please,” he pants arching into the man’s side. Dante slides in a second finger, closing his eyes and enjoys the feeling of the man’s shuttering, panting, moaning and wiggling against him. As he slowly opens him up with his fingers, dragging them along his insides. Slipping out to circle and tease the sensitive rim. Wash cups his cheek and pulls his face in for a kiss. “I want more,” his hands shake and he tosses his head back, and spreads his legs.

All open, barely touching Dante as he continues to slip two fingers within him. “It’s not about what you _want_ ,” Dante teases, drawing his fingers out again to sit between the man’s legs. “You’re not exactly _healthy_ enough for strenuous activities yet, Wash. And we have the whole day.” The clock behind Wash’s head reads 9:27AM, earlier than what Dante liked but waking up and fingering Wash was far better than sleep.

When he’d go to wrap his hand around his cock, Dante would bat his hand away, would remove his fingers from the man’s hole until they’d drop back up beside his head. “If you want to cum you’ll cum,” Dante explained, slipping a third finger into him and continuing with his slow torturous pace.

He kept him like that, with his cock leaking against his stomach and his body quivering around his three fingers until the clock read 10AM. He kept him there, pleading and whimpering, hands pulling at his hair and fisting the bed sheets until finally his back arched off the bed one final time and his cock took pity on him. Cumming all over his own chest, up his neck and onto his cheek.

Dante leaned over the blond to lick up the white ribbons of cum coating his freckled skin. Lapping up the semen like it was some great tasting treat. “Tastes good, baby,” he licked up the mess on his face, pressing a kiss to the man’s jaw. Wash’s eyelids threatened to fall, to close and push the man back into another slumber. He chuckled, “go to sleep baby, we’ll have some more fun later.”

They did.

Hardly leaving the bed again on that fifth day, save for the obvious times when one would need to. Not when Wash’s hand was firmly wrapped around Dante’s cock while the man continued to tease and finger him open—that man had a love for Washington’s ass and he couldn’t help but present it to him every time the mood would strike.

The sixth day saw Wash finally leaving the house. Just a simple stroll around the park nearest to Locus’ apartment complex, test his legs and get him some breath of fresh air. He kept his hand firmly in Dante’s the whole time, fingers weaving together as they pass by couples and children, getting passed by joggers and their dogs.

They returned back to Washington’s cats, together they made a chicken stir fry (Wash was the one that cooked it though he made Dante do all the cutting) and ate from the same plate afterwards. The night was spend with a muted television and two cats leaping and running madly as Dante played with them with the new cat toy, the blond man’s head pillowed in his lap as he watched with a laugh on his lips.

The seventh day they went for a drive around Los Santos. Through the city and then into the desert; never finding a place to really settle down. Stopping but for a moment to go through a drive-thru for lunch before continuing on with their drive. It was just the pair, the radio and the open road—Wash’s arm stuck out the window and loving the breeze through his fingers.

The eighth day was spent like the others; went for a walk in the park, Wash forced Dante to go to the gym, they made dinner, played with the cats and cuddled on the couch. Nothing was different until Wash was leading Dante back to the bed, the man’s hands on his hips as Wash stared up at him with a half-lidded gaze. Clothing falling as they shuffled from one room to the other, hands sliding over newly exposed skin; hands only leaving the other when shirts needed to be pulled over head and tossed somewhere back towards where they came.

“I want you to fuck me,” Wash’s voice cracked between kisses, between pulling his face down and holding his face close against his. “No more teasing,” he shook his head, shaking the sweatpants from around his ankles before falling back into the bed to pull off his boxers.

Dante followed him, kneeling over him and pushing him back. “I don’t know if you can handle that, Wash,” kissing his jaw, nipping at his ear then dipping down to his throat. He couldn’t decide where to kiss first—where to start, where to move to next. He wanted to taste everything. These last eight days with the blond only made him want him more, only drove him mad with _want_ —with _need_.

“You _want_ to fuck me just as much as I want you to,” he squirmed, arching up into his touch as his lips traveled further south. Licking over freckles and the fine blond hair that fanned out over his chest, he sucked marks around the blond’s tattoo, dragged his teeth over his nipple and pinched the hardening nub between thumb and finger.

“It’s not about what _I want_ —”

He’s heard that before, heard it used against him when the man refused to touch his cock or give him more than his fingers. “You _need it_ ,” he changed tactics, whimpering when the man’s attention zoned in on his face, on his lips as his voice dripped with need and lust. “You need to have your cock in me just as much as I _need_ to have it in me,” he gave him a throaty moan, wrapping a leg around his torso and pulling Dante against him. “Please,” he begged, moaning when the man above him groaned, shuttering at his tone, “please Dante. I need you, I need your dick. I need it, I want it—I want you, I _need you_.”

He wasn’t above begging, wasn’t above groveling if it’s what he partner wanted. Wash wasn’t above teasing, or dragging it out. He was out of practice, yes, but when the lust was spreading out through his veins and his blood drained to his cock it was like getting back on a bicycle and peddling on again like nothing happened—that that time off it didn’t count for anything, that that little tumble didn’t even happen in the first place.

Dante leaned back, nodding to the pillows. “Ass up,” and the blond nodded, squiring back and rolling over on his front while Dante kicked off his remaining articles of clothing and retrieved the necessary tools from the side table. Wash wiggled his hips, sliding his legs further apart when the man settled between them. “How do you want me to take you?”

Dante’s hands spread his cheeks apart, moaning at the sight of his asshole. “I want to face you,” Wash replied, pushing back into the man’s hands, groaning when his thumb brushed against the rim.

No matter how many times he’s had the man’s fingers buried in his ass this week it didn’t prepare him for the nerves that clenched in his gut when the cap of the bottle of lube popped open and he squeezed it onto the crack of Washington’s ass, humming and the shiver and hiss that Wash bit out when the cool liquid oozed down his skin and the man ran his fingers through it. Pressing a teasing finger in just a half an inch before pulling out and pulling more lube down to coat his digits and into the puckered hole.

He folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes; moaning openly at the feeling of his finger working its way in him, spreading his legs further to give the man more room. “Please, baby, I want to see your face. Tease me later, I need you. I need your cock, I need your lips—please love, please just get me ready.” He whimpered into his elbow, nipping at the corner of his lip when the second finger pushed in quickly.

“You’re not completely healed yet,” Dante’s voice sounded like sandpaper, all gravel and _sore_ as he pressed kisses to Wash’s freckled shoulder. Clearing his throat he continued, “Can’t fuck you how I want to.” He slipped in a third finger and Wash pushed back onto them, moaning into his arm and clenching his eyes shut.

“Then make love to me, _fuck_ , just give me your dick. I need to—” Dante flipped him over, covering his body with his and kissing his breath away. Wiping his hand clean on the sheets, he cupped the man’s face. He kissed with without the usual teeth—without the usual fire in it. All soft lips and gentle caresses; breaking apart without ever opening their lips only to grin goofy at the other. “D...”

The man pushed off him, sitting back on his haunches and grabbing the gold coloured wrapper from the bed. “Are you putting this on me or shall I?” his cheeks coloured with just a barest hint of pink, his chest rising and falling as the silence drew out.

Wash held out his hand, pushing himself up when the package was set in his palm and he made quick work removing the condom from the package, tossing the foil away. He leaned in and down, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock and bobbing his head once, twice then thrice before pulling off with a lick of his lips. “Tastes good, D,” he grins, pinching the tip of the condom and rolling it down.

The man rolled his eyes, pushing the blond back into bed and following him down. Hooking one of those freckle covered legs over his shoulder, Dante took himself in hand and slowly eased his way in. They both moaned, “Feels good Wash, so fucking good.” He pants grabbing hold of Wash’s other leg and hooking it right under his armpit.

Wash keeps on hand on Dante’s shoulder, groaning and sighing as he pushed in. Tossing his head back when he started to move, a loud moan tearing out of his throat as the man slammed back to the base of his cock. It was slower, yes, but the force driving his movements was the same. The thrusting of his hips slow, steady, but deep and prodding that forced the breath from Wash’s lungs with moans of the man’s name and a bite of nails in Dante’s skin.

-XXxx-

He was a little disappointed when Washington didn’t come to greet him at the door, even a greeting from Dante would’ve served a purpose. Though, when he set his keys down and kicked off his shoes the two cats came running up, weaving between his legs until he scratched the tops of their heads. And that’s when he heard the pleasured moan. “R-right there, ah— _ah fuck_ Dante! Right there,” Locus grinned scratching the cats’ chins before stretching up and grabbing his carry-on bag. Making his way to his room, listening to the two sets of moans, gathering the clothes that led him to his room.

He chuckled, _they left me a trail. How cute._ Pushing the bedroom door open and tossing the clothes into a pile on the floor before dropping his bag by the door and startling both men on his bed. “Shit,” Dante hissed, leaning back and pulling Wash into a more exposed position. Something that Locus used to his advantage; taking in his flushed cock, his chest and cheeks covered in a deep pink blush as he grinned at him.

“Looks like he’s feeling better,” Locus nodded towards the blond making grabby hands towards him, stilling when Dante slammed back into him and causing him to cry out with another delicious moan. Locus groaned knees bumping against the bed and taking one of Wash’s hands in his.

Dante chuckled, “no shirt or pants allowed at this party, Lo. Though you’re more than welcome to join, this is your bed after all.” Locus pressed a kiss to his lips, sliding his fingers through the inky black hair and down to his neck. Dante pulled away with a raise of an eyebrow and a lick of his lips. “I’m not going to ask what that was for,” he informed him, “but it’s good to see you back in Los Santos.”

Locus smirked pulling his shirt over head and dropping it to his feet, pulling at his belt and the button and fly of his jeans before kicking those away too. He fumbled with his socks, tossing them further than ideal before spreading out in bed beside Wash on his side. Moulding himself into the white man’s side and leaning over his head. “Hello Washington,” he greeted him, humming when the man’s arm snuck under the space between his body and the bed and gasping when Dante started up his pace anew—now he was just showing off.

“He makes the best noises,” Dante supplied, causing the blond’s blush to darken and his head to tilt back. “Sing pretty for us, baby, show Locus how much you missed him. Go ahead; don’t mind you moaning his name with mine.”

And he did; Locus’ hand wrapped around his flushed cock as he fought to keep himself from swallowing down those glorious noises he was making. The pleas, the whimpers when he felt the blond grow a little too close to his orgasm so he clenched his fist around the base of his cock to delay him awhile longer. “Please, _please_. Locus. Don’t be like that, love—baby, please.” His pleas made Dante laugh, groan when Wash would clench his anus around his cock in retaliation, “fuck off Dante—fuck, _fuck_. You’re both _assholes_.” He tossed his head against the pillows, pulled at his own hair and clawed at Locus’ back. Clenching his eyes shut when Locus started his slow drag of his dry palm over Wash’s sensitive cock, only his pre-cum as lubrication.

Locus licked at his ear, nibbling at his earlobe. “You’re right Washington, you do take cock exceptionally well. Maybe someday you’ll be able to handle two,” his words sending shivers down the man’s spine, made him clench his eyes shut and moan wantonly. Locus spared a glance to Dante, taking in his bent back head and the moans drawing out in length as his hips snapped forwards without a care for his typical show of control. He was close.

“So good, baby,” he whispered, kissing and nipping at the freckles over Washington’s jaw. “Sound good, you take it so good. Makes me wish I was inside you too, fucking you apart, you crying out my name for _hours_. Make you feel good,” He continued to slow dragged of his palm up and down his shaft, whispering promise and praise into his ear. “I’ll make you cum with just my mouth and fingers, then fuck you open when you’re good and content. Fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

Wash’s shoulders are the only part of him left on the bed as he arches up, his cries catching in his throat as his mouth hung wide. Tears gathering along his lashes as Dante kept pressing against his prostate, “That’s my good babe, cum for me—cum for _us_ , sweetheart.” Wash’s cock jerked in his palm and Locus chuckled, cum spurting up against his neck and jaw, onto Wash’s face and chest.

“Fuck!” Dante shouted, hanging his head as his hips quickened, balls slapping against Wash’s ass, and body tensing—halting balls deep into the man as he let out another long moan pass through his lips. “Fucking hell Wash,” he licked his lips, both men’s chests heaving as they caught their breath and gathered their voices.

Wash’s head rolled, finally wrapping an arm around Locus’ neck and pulling him down for his kiss. “Welcome home,” he grinned tiredly, legs bent as Dante massaged the tension from the thigh of the leg he threw over his shoulder. “Missed you,” he mumbled, kissing Locus’ puckered lips again.

He spared a glance at Dante, and then back to Wash. “Missed you too,” he replied. Leaning his hips away from Wash’s thigh when he went to press against his semi-aroused cock. “None of that. Kisses tonight. It’s been eight days—minor concussions take anywhere from seven to ten days to heal. You shouldn’t have been having sex yet to being with.”

Wash’s pout stalled his scolding, “but I missed your dick too,” he grinned nudging his thigh towards him again. “I can tell it missed me too.”

He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “you can concern yourself with my cock _tomorrow_ then. _Tonight_ you’re going to bed after you clean yourself off.” The blond rolled his gray-blue eyes, but groaned his agreement.


	17. Omelet you finish but this conversation is gonna be egghausting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made my first egg pun. Wow.

Locus slept like the dead, tucking in behind the blond man with his arm thrown over his naked waist. He slept far past the time he normally wakes at, coming to slowly with one limb at a time. Listening to the quiet communication between Dante and Wash. Wash’s nausea was back; “and _you_ said you could handle it,” Dante teased, tucking into the man in the middle. Peppering kisses to the clusters of freckles fanning out over his cheeks.

“The mornings are _always_ a difficult time for me—”

“Its two,” Dante interrupted, and Wash continued on like he didn’t utter a breath. Like he laid there calm, controlled and collected as Washington voiced his piece.

“—if it’s not the concussion its _other_ stuff.” And _both_ knew the matters in which he suggested; the damn pills for it sat on the island in the kitchen waiting for him to pop as soon as Locus would release him from his embrace.

Locus tightened his hold around him, yawning in the blond’s ear. “And you were the one that begged for me to have sex with you,” he cleared his throat, not pleased with how it caught, how it scraped in his throat as he spoke. “Felix’ll be here soon,” he groaned, flopping over onto his back and stretching out.

Dante pushed himself up, rolling out of the bed in all his naked glory. Shoulders popping, cracking as he stretched—rolling his neck and cracked his tattooed covered back. The spine popping, _crick-pop-pop-crack_ , and the man groaned. Feeling the tension lessen as three of the thoracic vertebrae popped and settled comfortably again. “I was surprised he didn’t follow you home,” he announced, fishing through Locus’ dresser and began pulling out shirts. Tossing a pair of boxers towards Wash’s head, upon landing the man squawked at and flailed to remove.

Locus raised a brow in silence, watching the man pull a loose dark gray tank top over his head before walking over to his GO bag and pulling out his own pair of boxers— _good_. As much as he enjoyed the man’s presence, and how their relationship with Washington has been progressing their past _‘handjobs when desperate’_ agreement they used to have to something... a little more healthy. What with the semblance of _romance_ played up between them with the quick pecks to the other’s lips or cheek.

“He was frustrated with how I talked to him during our job—claimed that I _embarrassed_ him in front of our Mercenaries.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, fighting back the roll of his eyes. It wasn’t difficult to _embarrass_ Felix, not when their Mercenaries knew to ignore Felix and report anything they find to Locus—Locus was the brains between the pair.

He sat up reaching out with a foot to drag the jeans he wore the day before towards himself as Wash started pulling the gifted article of clothing towards him. It was t _hen_ when Locus was buckling up his buckle, looking up at the blond zipping up Locus deep green hoodie with the large gray X over the chest that crossed over the heart, that he noticed his choice of clothing. He swept his gaze lower, taking in Locus’ plaid boxers that Washington wore—he pulled the blond in and nearly off the bed to press a kiss to his jaw. “Have you been wearing my clothes?”

He sounded hungry to his own ears, cupping the man’s jaw and pulling his head back to devour his lips. To tangle his fingers in that blond hair and press his tongue against the other’s, to swallow down the groan that Wash produced as he all but swooned into his chest. “Love how you look in my things,” he uttered between breaths, before pulling him in for another knee wobbling kiss.

Wash patted Locus’ cheek, pulling away with one final peck. “Not feeling so good, love, careful with that.” Locus’ gaze softened and he helped the man out of bed. Slowly leading him from the room with a hand firmly planted on his hip and towards the sound of pans clattering and the fridge slamming close. “D,” Wash called out, eyes narrowing as he took in the bacon Dante was putting into the pan. “Remember to watch it this time,” he reminded the man, leaning back against Locus as he caged him in against the island and he began to sort through his medication. Grabbing a bottle of water than Dante must have taken out along with the bacon; Wash uncapped it and downed his pills with one large swig from the bottle.

“Take the painkillers too, Felix texted and said he’s on his way now,” Dante warned, flipping over the bacon and poking the meat with the fork. “He’s going to be all over you so get them in now.” Wash did as suggested, knowing that as much as he was getting used to Felix, the man had a voice that was strikingly different from the low base tones that belonged to both Locus and Dante—that and Felix tended to talk more than both of them.

Locus curled his arms around Wash’s waist, tucking his chin on top of the crown of wheat blond hair and took to swaying the pair in long slow sweeps from right to left, eliciting a pleasant hum from the blond man as he settled back. “Mittens likes you,” Wash tilted his head, dropping a shoulder for Locus’ chin to use to rest on instead, “missed you too. He’d run to the door sometimes thinking you were there.”

Locus pressed a long, sweet kiss to the man’s exposed neck. Watching Dante curse and dance away from the crackling grease as he filled the pan again with bacon. Cooking enough for the four of them, assuming that Felix wouldn’t have eaten yet—what with the possibility of food he did not have to make. Wash had quickly learned that that man did not like to cook and did not cook well either.

“Did his owner share his feelings?”

Wash brought his hand back, tangling into the long brown wavy strands of hair that belonged to one of his partners. “Yes,” he answered feeling the back of his neck heat without any reason pertaining to Locus’ body heat. Though, the steady connection—the light kisses that feathered over his skin, up his neck and to his ear—did help nudge the slight pink into more of a red territory.

Locus took nudged the man’s cheek, guiding his face towards his own to press a quick elegant peck to the man’s lips. “Good,” he smirked, “I would hate it if I was the only one.”

Dante hissed again when the bacon crackled and popped, the grease spraying out onto one of his hands. Beside the stove he had begun shredding the bacon into small omelet sized pieces to go along with the peppers (red, green and orange), onions, mushrooms and the ham pieces that Wash had made a day before and shoved into the fridge. The pair watched their third mutter darkly under his breath, cursing out the bacon and its greasy goodness for all the wrongs that it was committing.

He pulled out the two other pans, dividing up the hot bacon grease between the three pans (the other two now heating up alongside the original bacon pan). Tearing up the last of the fresh bacon, Dante whipped up the eggs and manned the pans. “What do you want in it?”

“All the fucking mushrooms and a shit ton of bacon!” Leave it to Felix to make an entrance; leave it to him to come walking into the kitchen and nearly scaring the life out of Washington by simply wanting bacon and mushrooms. He laughed at Wash’s startled— _betrayed_ —expression, how he clutched the patch of sweater over his heart.

Locus pulled away with a sigh, pushing past Felix without a second glance. He pulls out a package of spinach, the cheese and a tomato before joining Dante at his side. “Wash likes peppers,” is all he says before grabbing the knife and cutting up the tomato he was going to be adding to his own meal. Wash watched critically as Dante’s shoulder bumps against the man’s arm and Locus checks his hip against the other’s in retaliation.

It was like it was _normal_. That it was normal for Locus to just close off again with the arrival of Felix and no one mentioned a word. Well, Wash wasn’t happy with the lack of contact pressed to his back even when Felix quickly closed in and pulled him in for a lewd welcome kiss that one would lay on their partner when they wanted to spur things along towards the bedroom. “Everything alright between the two of you?” he inquired, pulling away from the kiss and instead pressing their foreheads together so he could get a good look at what Felix would explain.

He missed him too, don’t get him wrong. He missed the sass and the wandering hands that loved slipping under (and up) clothes rather than remaining in their respectable positions. He missed the dark humor of the man and how he and Dante would throw verbal pot-shots at each other in conversations. He missed his contact so he _kept_ contact now, even though he wanted nothing more than to grab both of them, sit them down and figure out just _what the fuck_ happened—and ‘ _Felix got mad’_ wouldn’t cut it.

The man sighed, eyes falling shut as he slipped his fingers into the pockets of Wash’s borrowed sweater. “We get like that after a longer job with just the two of us.” Wash took in the relaxed posture; the un-tensed shoulders and the relaxed facial muscles. “It’s why we grab outside help,it’s so we don’t end up killing each other.” He chuckled, “you’re a great distraction, y’know, makes it all better when the two of us can’t hate-fuck anymore.”

 _That_ confused him. “The two of you don’t have to stop having sex,” his thumb swept over his cheek, cradling his face in both hands and pulling him back to get a solid look at him. Take in the expression in his eyes; they screamed of confusion at that moment. And they should. Wash was rather confused at this moment as well.

 “But... you, D and Locus... aren’t you all,” he batted his eyes and puckered his lips. Forcing a high pitched, lovestruck giggle from his throat before dropping the mask of the most ‘ _stereotypical teenager in love’_ ever. It would’ve made Wash laugh if it wasn’t throwing up little flags in his mind. Little flags that screamed for him to say what he’s been thinking since those little dates they’ve all been starting to go on—since admitting that they wanted a piece of his _tail_ and was willing to play by his rules, willing to _date him_ , to insure that he was comfortable enough to do that.

“ _I’m_ dating _you_ too, Felix. What, did you think you weren’t invited?” Wash took note of the other two pausing, listening into their conversation. Locus’ head turned slightly towards them while Dante’s grip on the spatula tightened.

“I...” his mouth dropped open, clicking shut again. The ball at the end of his tongue piercing emerged between his lips as he mused over what Washington told him.

“Here’s how I look at it; I’m dating the three of you.” Communication. Communication was always going to be the largest factor in this matter and Washington couldn’t believe he didn’t think to approach the three of them about this earlier. Couldn’t believe he waited this long to mention his own intentions— _he_ was dating them, and while he might not be completely sure that _they_ were dating him, he was still going to go out on a limb and assume that they at least cared about him _slightly_ in a romantic aspect.

He pulled away from Felix with one lingering kiss to the cheek; pulling back to settle against the counter that he left his bottle of water. “But the type of relationship you have with each other is based on what the three of you are comfortable with. The only thing I ask is that the three of you _try_ to get along, at least for my own piece of mind.” He cracked a soft smile, twisting the cap off his water and swallowing down a good portion of it.

There was a heavy silence afterwards as the eggs finished cooking. Felix, Locus and Dante all sparing the others a long look that Wash wouldn’t look into—they’d tell him; they’d tell him what they’d decide. If Wash was overstepping whatever it was that was going on, if he assumed too far.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Locus finally admitted, grabbing the plates and holding them out as Dante began to scoop the omelets out.

Felix chuckled, “uh-oh, that’s a tone that reads _Felix you’re not going to like this_.” He teased before sighing dramatically and swooning against Washington’s side. “You’re lucky you’re so hot and the thought of getting laid by three relatively attractive dudes has my attention piqued. Y’know, _I_ couldn’t date anyone who wasn’t _at least_ a solid eight or above.” He leaned his head on Wash’s shoulder, waggled his brows at the man when he glanced down. “I’m gonna cut out the random lays, Wishy-Washy, can’t have the B.F. think I’m a cheater now.”

Now _that_ , that was something that Wash laughed about.


	18. He's turning Twenty Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one thing that I hate about longer stories that have a longer spaced out time period and that's trying to fill the time with something interesting. I mean, the "filler" for this story is pretty much them falling in love with each other which is extremely important and I need to have that before the next arc really starts so thus you get Washington's birthday and them just being cute and stuff.
> 
> That and Hawkheartedlion mentioned drugs (after I wrote something in the Tuna Sandwich Mad Max AU i've been working on) and how she thinking North would've been the stoner out of PFL and I... well, I have to agree. I love the idea so much that I had to have Wash and Felix smoke a bit. So there's some casual pot smoking between those two here.
> 
> If you want to see something as filler please tell me 'cause right now I'm just filling in time and letting these boys have fun right now. If you want them in more masks just say the word, if you want them in some sort of sexy clothing just send me the word. Though, if you're sending me anything on Tumblr just please make sure you say "for GTA AU" or "for Brush the Dirt off Your Knees" somewhere in there. I currently have prompts and suggestions closed but I will allow it for this story, plus if you just wanna chat I'm here~
> 
> ShadowSheyla@tumblr 
> 
> But in other news, I'm going back to school on the 2nd of September so I'm going to be slowing down. School kicked my ass last year along with some... well, mental stuff. But this summer has helped and RvB and the people here in this fandom have been so friendly and welcoming that I will surely keep you all posted on my activities and with stories. Trust me, I have stuff written that I haven't posted yet 'cause I know I'll be slowing down when the semester starts. 
> 
> But I think I can pump one more chapter out of my before I go to school, so maybe by this weekend. But if not I'm so sorry. Its just going to be Wash's birthday chapter so it's bond to be fun either way. 
> 
> Anyways, take care sweetlings and thank you so much! xoxo

It’s been three weeks since Locus and Felix returned for their job, Washington’s wounds have healed—the gun shots healing over into a light gray and pinkish scaring, it went nicely with the stab wound on his leg. His shoulder only still acting up when he’d try to muscle through something for too long—lifting minigun after minigun for hours at a time was not an ideal tester for his arm.

They were out Dante’s way today as the man lay half buried beneath another one of his babies and checking her breaks amongst many things. Poor girl saw a chunk of metal get lodge up into her undercarriage and Dante was still in the process of fixing the damage while changing everything else he could seeing that he was working on her. Locus was stretched out on a lawn chair between to tool box and the car, handing the man his tools while flipping through To Kill a Mockingbird. Yesterday’s novel was Of Mice and Men, tomorrow might be another re-read of The Outsiders. He seemed to be a in classics kind of mood this week.

Passing the knives between them Felix and Wash checked over the balance, they were crafted specially for throwing and the dart board they were testing them on was quick to learn. “This one doesn’t have the greatest balance,” Felix handed the joint back to the blond as he inspected the knives spread out on the table.

“Babe,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth, gathering the man’s attention and wiggling the joint between his fingers. “Want a drag?” Washington started between the rolled up tube of paper and weed and the man who brought it to his own lips for another drag. Washington leaned in, parting his lips for Felix to set the joint between them. He pressed his lips around and inhaled, sucking in a lungful of pot and holding it. Letting it burn and linger in his lungs before pushing it out his nose in a cloud of gray smoke. “Sexy,” he grinned, holding the joint back up to his lips for another long drag.

Wash chuckled, checking over the knives again before choosing the one he wished to throw next. “It’s been a long time,” thumb sliding over the edge of the blade. He hummed at the sharpness, gripping the blade between his fingers and launching it at the dart board without any hesitation. They weren’t playing darts; their aim made it unfair—more of a stalemate than anything else. Instead they decided to see if they can hit every number starting from the bottom and working their way up.

Jobs were being slow, hardly anything for the four of them to do—they didn’t need to rob any banks, not when their last one sparked a gang fight between of Los Santos more established groups. They didn’t have any more sensitive information to steal like how they got Washington to join. There wasn’t even anyone to chase down to get their money back. It was all... _quiet_.

Washington wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not when he got to see his boyfriends everyday—not when he and his cats kinda... well, _forgot_ to move out of Locus’ apartment after his concussion. Hey, Locus had a large comfortable bed and he said he liked sleeping with him every night! Who was Wash to deny Locus that?

And, it wasn’t like the four of them were constantly together either. Felix still went home, still enjoyed his own place to do his own thing—Locus and Dante still drove him crazy if spending too long together. Dante still went out to his desert garages and worked on his cars, he’d text Washington when he was out grabbing a drink from one of the bars with an old friend of his—it was cute.

The only one that Wash saw nearly constantly was Locus, and when he felt like he was being over stimulated by Washington constantly being there... well, he’d say it in his own way. He’d pull out a book and take up more room than normal on the couch. Twice he’s asked Wash to go and do something—go for a run, pick up food—that he just needed an hour or two to himself and Wash would peck his cheek and tell him he has his phone on him before leaving.

He would go to either Dante’s or Felix’s sometimes. Sometimes he’d go out for lunch and talk to Jill when she was working her rare lunch shift—filling in her gossip, telling her that _yes_ he was dating those guys now and _yes_ they were good at sex. The woman would slip him some free ice cream and Wash would give her a thirty dollar tip, much to her shock (“you don’t need to do this Daniel. This is too much!”) and Washington’s amusement (“consider it a make up for not being around the apartment much anymore then... or dealing with me and my lack of communication. Either way, keep the damn thirty and have yourself a great day Jill”).

Felix grabbed the first knife off the table; the one that Wash claimed didn’t have the great balance and chucked it. It flew; it flew and lodged itself into the wall, but yet still nowhere close to where it needed to be. “We give this one to D, or throw it out,” he glared at the handle of the blade sticking out of the wall, handing the joint back to Washington and watching as he took his second drag. “You Freelancers used to smoke a lot?” he jutted his chin out, inhaling the smoke that Wash blew his way.

Wash plucked the blunt from his fingers, stealing the last drag before dropping it to the floor and squishing it under his boot. The smoke easing from his lips as he grinned, “you’d be surprised just how much a couple of kids would smoke. North actually was our stoner, donno if that’s the reason why he’s a fucking great sniper or not, but... well, can’t really see it not helping.” It pulls a laugh from Felix as he wraps an arm around the blond’s neck, pressing kissing to his jaw.

“And you, pretty boy? What were _you_ known for in Freelancer?”

That... that was an interesting thought. What was he known for in Freelancer? He was the Director’s son; everyone knew he was a Church. David Church—he stopped being called that real soon though, introduced as an honorary member since he could remember. He was the youngest Agent though. He got called rookie a lot because of it. “For sleeping with a guy who was twenty when I was seventeen?” he chuckled, trying to think of another. “I was called rookie a lot because I was a good couple years younger than most of them.”

His kissing stilled face pulling away with a mix of shock and hesitation, “how fucking old are you?” He hissed, fingers clenched through the belt loops that the man had made use of that morning.

“I’m twenty five. Turning twenty six on the eighteenth,” his cheeks coloured when Felix stared at him— _really_ looked at him. The eighteenth was four days away and Washington was just planning on spending it how he normally did... but now with some company. He was going to convince Locus to make him dinner and spend time with his boyfriends, cuddle up with his cats and who knows what else. But the look; _that look_ that Felix was giving him didn’t look to allow it.

Felix pushed himself away, “Locus!” he shouted, “fucking hell he’s twenty _fucking_ five. How the fuck did this happen?”

The man tipped the page of his book, closing it right before Felix stormed up to him. “What are you shouting about now?” he sighed, taking the grease covered wrench that Dante held out to him before rolling out from under the vehicle.

“Washington is turning twenty six in four days,” he snarled. Dante chuckled, wiping off the dirt and grease onto his pants. “ _I_ was the youngest— _I’m_ supposed to be the fucking youthful one here,” he continued on, ignoring the exasperated sigh from Locus as he pushed himself from his seat and brushed past the smaller man.

Felix was just being difficult; it wasn’t like he was turning twenty eight—not like Dante and Locus. No, he was firmly cemented at the ripe age of twenty seven and without a gray hair in sight, even between dye jobs. Unlike Washington who seemed to have the faintest dusting of the gray colouring mixed into the hair around his temples, something that Locus could only assume was from stress.

The life of crime didn’t exactly mean a steady or comfortable life. Not for all; not for Washington and his collection of medication and his nightmares that he’d still wake up having.

Washington was back to sorting through the knives they had picked up, picking out his favourites and testing the others. “I see Felix is at it again,” he pointed the knife in the direction of Felix and Dante as Felix continued with his explanation. He smiled up at him, eyes a little red, body smelling a little of pot. “You know when my birthday is though,” he shrugged, turning and tossing the knife in hand towards the board.

“You didn’t tell me,” Locus tucked himself in behind him, snuggling his nose along the underside of his jaw. He curled into the embrace, humming softly as the taller man held him, their bodies swaying together as they stood. He loved it when he’d hold him like this, all flush against his front with his arms heavy and solid around him. They typically slept like this too, with Locus’ nose buried into the soft blond hair at the nape of his neck.

“I was honestly just going to ask you to make me dinner and have some wine and that’s pretty much it. See D and Felix for a bit too, pet the cats. I don’t know. My birthday has never really been all that big or important, just another day really. It’s the small things that I would rather like—not having to do this or that or the other thing.”

He tightened his hold around the blond’s waist, “I can do that.” He ghosted his lips up to the man’s cheeks, humming as he pressed pecks to the freckled and scarred skin. “I can start planning dinner now. Get a roast, some more wine seeing that Dante and Felix drank most of it last week.” He nipped at the man’s cheek bone, pulling his hips back against his.

Dante chuckled, circling them with a coo breaking into his tone. “Sounds _romantic_ , Los Angeles—room for one more? You haven’t swept _me_ off my feet yet,” he winked when the dark skinned man glared at him, switching to Felix when barked out that he was showing up as well. “I’ll bring the candles,” he doubled back to slap Locus’ ass.

“Buy the wine,” Washington shot back instead. “Red and expensive shit; the two of you drank all the good stuff,” he pointed between Felix and Dante as their interrupted the mood between Locus and he. Felix scoffed, rolling his eyes but didn’t argue his rules.

“Dessert?” Dante leaned against the table, finally giving the cuddling pair some room to continue their cuddling. His fingers fiddling with the blades still spread out along the flattop and not implanted into either the board or the wall.

“I can go for apple pie, haven’t had pie in _years_ —shit, back when my sister and I used to cook.” He could picture it now, remembers the recipe that he used to use and everything. He was the Pie Guy in the family, ever since he was a wee little thing he had always been in charge of desserts. He’d search for recipes or play around with his own until it was _just right_.

Felix’s laughter cut him out of memory lane, snapping him back into his reality of talking about his _twenty sixth_ birthday while wrapped up in one of his lover’s arms. Shit, his life was becoming too weird. “You’re such a white boy!” he howled slamming his hand on the table as he continued down his path of laughter.

Washington could only roll his eyes, “yes Love, thanks for noticing the pasty white skin. Did you forget about the sunburn I’m recovering from on my chest?” He ignored him to turn a question towards Locus, “can I make my pie? It’s something I used to make for my friends and family years ago and I want to see if I can still pull it off.”

Locus nodded, “it’s your birthday.”


	19. Happily Before Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback chapter, now starring Washington past birthdays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels shorter than normal but hmmmm. I mean, I am posting it a day (or two) before I said I would so hush now ;) Anyways, there's a warning of "suicidal thoughts" right at the very end. I really just needed to write Allison and her lil' baby David. Don't judge me, I turned happy bad.
> 
> But i'm still taking the suggestions on what you would love to see. I'v gotten one so far and I'm loving the idea~ Would love to hear more from you darlings but if not I'll just sprinkle more smut and fluff in still. I mean, I gotta get Wash and Felix on a skateboard but other than that the next chapter is the last "filler" I have really planned until the next arc comes into play. But that may be 3-5 chapters away if I space timeline stuff out right. 
> 
> If you want them being domestic 'n shit tell me (I love my Wash + Murder baes being all domestic), you want more Mittens and Tigra just tell me. I need to show more love for those babies anyways. Maybe with a vet trip or something. You wanna see how that little conversation with the murder baes went down? I'm all ears (I'm also laughing at it too). You decide~ 
> 
> I'm currently writing up the next chapter so I at least have it started before school starts :) But I will certainly be around. I have some other stories that I've half written that I've been holding onto so I could write and/or post during the school year. But, I'm active on tumblr and I do just drop little random drabbles that I feel don't really deserve to make it onto AO3. Either way, I hope you guys and girls have a fantastic day and night (and however many other ones before we next talk)!
> 
> Take care and if you ever need to talk, I'm totally here to lend an ear (or a pair of eyes in this case).

_“Happy Birthday David,” she smiles down at him and cups his tiny chubby cheek as he coos and reaches up to her with tiny chubby arms. He’s babbling again. He tends to do so he’s not forming words, that mouth of his gaping as his tongue rolls, he blowing bubbles with it and giggles all the more at the sounds. He’s a happy one year old, already speaking words but in the morning he’d slip back into a seamless babble and garble of sounds._

_“That’s my good little boy,” she cooed, lifting him from his crib and carrying over to the change table. He giggles again when she begins to change him, slipping another diaper on before changing him into some new clothes. “Your big sister has been wanting to see you, I had to get Daddy to force her to sit at the table. Do you want to go see Elizabeth?”_

_David giggled, “Abeth! Abeth!” the Z sound not yet grasping in his vocabulary and his parents couldn’t help but giggle at how he’d say her name. He said it with such pride and_ joy _that neither wished to correct him of it too often, though they kept reinforcing the sound Z._

_Allison laughed, bouncing with her little boy all the way to the dining room. “We’re gonna see your sister, we’re gonna see your sister,” she sang holding her baby away from her chest, swooping him down in his highchair, paired with airplane noises and everything, beside the blond haired girl who beamed widely at him._

_“ABETH!” David cried, slamming his hands against his tray that the woman clipping into place. He reached out towards his sister grabbing at the air before she leaned in to shower his cheeks with kisses, his tiny hands clung to her shirt. “Abeth, Abeth,” he squealed as she started tickling his neck, “nooooo Abeth, stahp Abeth!” He laughed, and squealed and laughed some more as the five year old continued to shower her baby brother with love._

_“Happy Birthday David,” Elizabeth smiles, her face slipping to that of an eight year old. Her eyes rimmed with red and David knows she’s been crying about Mom again. David had just turned four and he knows his Mom won’t be there to wish him a happy birthday._

_He pushes the space covers off his body and hug her tightly, “I love you Eliza.” He knows she likes that name better then Beth, better than Liza too, better than Elizabeth. His sister hates her name now, hates it almost as much as David hates seeing his sister sad. “Are we having pancakes?” he questions, slipping out from under his covers and following behind her as she leads him to the little collection of gifts on the coffee table._

_Dad’s nowhere to be seen._

_“I can make some if you want,” her smile is too forced for David, it makes him sad. Makes him wish to cheer her up—on his birthday all he wants is his sister to smile for real again. To not wake him up in the mornings with sad eyes rimmed with red._

_David gives her a real smile in return, just to remind her what ones looks like. “With strawberries and blueberries? Please! I know I didn’t eat all of them yesterday or... or, we can go out to the store and get some more if we need more! I’ll only eat one before we pay this time, okay? I promise!” That gets him a laugh, a large smile that makes her eyes water. Her eyes are sensitive but that’s okay, David ignores that and focuses on the smile and at the sound of her laughter._

_“С днем рождения” he’s greeted with when one of their prostitutes see him, the woman was walking home that morning. Wash had been on his way to the park near his school early that morning, wanting to catch some of the older members in Freelancer before heading home on their motorcycle. He had promised Wash a drive when he turned thirteen._

_Wash grinned at the woman, “спасибо!” he thanked her with a laugh. He only knew her by her street name; Revillia. Her long brown hair tied up in a long ponytail that swayed with each step in her stilettos. Washington paused, thinking of how to voice his question in Russian but it was never his strongest. Revillia had been teaching him the basics for the past year and while he was picking it up quickly, Wash was also learning languages from a couple of the other members of his Father’s gang. “Revillia!” He called out to her, not wishing to startle the woman by running after her. “Do you want me to walk you to your car?”_

_Revillia laughed, “If you wish to tiny Church,” her accent thick as she waved the boy over to her side. She wrapped an arm around the thirteen year old’s shoulders and sighed. “It saddens me to see such good boy like you be so familiar with so many people of the night.” She means thugs and prostitutes, strippers and mercenaries. Washington had recently started learning Spanish from one of their Drug Dealers; that was something._

_Washington could only smile up at the woman, a young lady of twenty one if he remembers correctly. “Sometimes you just gotta make your own happy place with the hand that you were given, right?” He doesn’t want to sound entitled, doesn’t want to over step and boundaries with any assumptions._

_Revillia chuckles, shaking her long hair. Stopping in front of her car, the woman kneels beside the wheel and collects her hidden keys. She turns to the blond haired child and presses a kiss to his forehead, “Happy Birthday Tiny Church. Cпасибо.”_

_He isn’t sure what she’s thanking him for but he smiles all the same. Waving when she drives off and out of sight. He only leaves; back to follow the path to his original destination when he knows she’s good and not returning._

_“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they shout, South straps a party hat to his head and Wash flops on top of her. His head pillowed on her shoulder as the eighteen year old gets her twin brother to sandwich Washington. It’s a blonde sandwich with a freckled filling._

_Wash couldn’t stop laughing, couldn’t stop feeling the love pouring out of this family that he found. Only fifteen and already leading a life far too old for him. He was no longer a Church, he went by Washington and only Washington—it made it hard in school when his teachers would call to him by names he was slowly unlearning._

_Carolina had Elizabeth, Washington had Church._

_They were up at the overlook, the fire roaring as they passed around their liquor and drugs. Washington’s gaze found Maine’s and he smiled at the brute of a teenager, he was all muscle and height—a tank really. He smiled back at him, bringing his beer to his lips and taking a sip. Beside Washington North was taking a drag from an expertly rolled joint, the older blond smiled down at Wash. “Maybe when you’re sixteen I’ll pass a joint to you, kid,” he teased._

_Wash didn’t need to ask him, he could go ask Carlos down by the docks during their Spanish lessons, or he could go ask York or Florida for a quick drag from theirs. Wash shook his head, “nah old man, I’ll just stick to underage drinking!” he laughed at the goofy grin North threw at him, slipping out from between the twins to go make his way towards Connie and Maine._

_The girl relaxing against Maine’s side, staring down at her phone while she texted her boyfriend. They had just got together three days ago and she was_ smitten _, so hopelessly glued to that phone of hers that both South and Carolina had yelled at her for it. South huffing that she was down someone who could scope out ladies with, seeing that Connie was a bisexual lady._

_Connie smiled looking up from her phone to hand Washington an unopened can of beer, “Happy Birthday Rookie, here’s to another year of your goofy ways.” She winked, watching as he cracked open the top and held her own up to knock against his—Maine joined in as well; that was something he could cheers to._

_Maine smirked, “Happy Birthday D.” He was the only one that ever called him that, it made his cheeks warm and his heart race._

_Washington pressed a kiss to the side of Maine’s helmet, “drive” he hissed before taking the gun that his sister offered him. He pulled his helmet back on his head before sticking himself half out his window; hooking his foot into the spot between the door and the seat, he pointed his assault rifle back at the car speeding in closer. Leveling his shot before firing—the bullets the cops were firing at him hardly made him flinch._

_He took out the driver of the car closest, turning his sights to the next car just as the first reared off, flipping back and into traffic. “C’mon motherfuckers, let’s go.” It was so..._ Hollywood _. The radio blasting one of Maine’s favourite rap artists, the money in the backseat between Carolina and York with their eyes turned to the skies in case of choppers._

 _Washington_ had _this. What was a little bank heist on his eighteenth birthday? Just a little chump change in the California area, they weren’t even locals. Just taking a spin down south for a road trip and stealing themselves some money—stir up some trouble. The normal._

 _Washington fired his next burst of three shots into the driver’s head, blood spraying out onto the windows and he could hear the man’s partner scream. He could hear the man through his helmet and the wind and the rush of it all._ Shit that kill was messy _, he should feel bad but he doesn’t. He should feel disgusted and horrified but by now Washington was a hardened criminal who could smile his way in and out of just about any situation, and if there wasn’t a way in or out the killing saw to it._

_He slid back into the car, slipping the safety back on and handing the gun back towards the back. York slipped his helmet off his head, resting back against the seat as Maine continued to speed. He continued his speed until they were pulling off the highway, ditching the car in some collection of trees and slipping into the truck waiting for them._

_Maine and Washington loaded the guns and money into the trunk, York chatting with North and Carolina already in the car—where they talking about the_ weather _?! The brute of a man caught his hand, pressing him against the vehicle. “Not a bad birthday,” he smirked, pressing a bruising kiss to his lips._

_Washington chuckled, cupping his boyfriend’s face between his hands. “No death or injury, not arrested either so yeah, I can say it’s a pretty good birthday.” His brow arched up, voice dipping low as he licked at the man’s mouth. “Though, when we get that hotel room later... well, I think you know what to do to make my birthday better.”_

_They learned to sign together, even though Wash could understand the growls and hisses—the wheezing of breaths. He doesn’t_ need _an A.I. Unit to talk; it’s just the rest of them that don’t bother learning how to make room for Maine any other way. It doesn’t matter if Carolina considers the man to be a friend; she told them both that Maine was to get her A.I. Sigma._

_This would be their last date together when there wouldn’t be a little computer program fluttering around Maine’s head and talking for him. **“I love you,”** Washington signs. He’s not hungry; he won’t admit that he’s nervous for Maine’s operation. _

_Maine smile that new tight lipped smile of his, grabbing hold of Washington’s hand and kissing his knuckles. He grows out an **I love you too** before returning the man’s hand to the table and taking a sip of his beer. Washington is twenty one now and he’s legally able to drink, though he doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol that night. He worries about Sigma, he worries about Maine and what North and York had told him in passing about their own A.Is. He remembers the conversations that he has with Delta and wonders what type of program Sigma is—what is his main trait?_

_Their meal arrives and Washington thanks their waiter with a tight lipped smile. The couple begin to eat in silence—Washington doesn’t wish to fill it with chatter, he hates talking now that Maine lost his voice. He feels bad filling the silence of their apartment with his voice, had taken to leaving the radio on just to give them something to hear._

_He feels a tapping against his hand and Wash glances up, **“today is supposed to be about you. What’s wrong? Do you want to go?”** Washington shakes his head, setting his fork and knife by his plate._

**_“I’m worried. Nervous for you.”_ **

_Maine snorts, rolling his eyes and quickly signs back an **“I’ll be fine. What’s a little computer program?”** And there was just something about it that screamed... that _ seemed _wrong._

_At twenty three Washington was running. Blood still splattered on his clothes as he tried to find another place to hide. He had to get away before North found him, before he found out what happened to South—_ he killed her _. He killed South, she shot him first—shot him months ago, but he was the one that pressed the gun to her head and shot her fucking_ dead _._

 _His wounds had healed; he didn’t plan to kill her. Didn’t want to kill her—he yelled, he_ cried _._ “You left me there!” _he remembers yelling,_ “You all left me to burn!” _But he was the one that set the fire and he was the one that blew up their home. It didn’t matter that it was burning to the ground far before the building went._

_Washington spent his twenty third birthday alone without any knowledge that it was his birthday. He spent it stripping from his blood splattered clothes and into a stolen pair of shorts and a shirt when he happened to stumble through someone’s campsite. He didn’t stay. Only stealing some of their food and booking it before they returned, his rifle and shotgun pressed closed to his body the whole time._

_Twenty four was with his cats, curled up on his couch watching Star Wars. He had to pause it, cursing at himself for not even being able to handle the “I love you/I know” scene without threat of breaking down. He was sore, he was tender and he was on medication now. He couldn’t talk to someone—how do you start explaining to someone the live that David Washington has lead. No,_ David Church _. That name was like acid._

_He hated anything and everything with the name Church._

_It didn’t matter... didn’t matter—not all those years before. Not all those other birthdays. No, Washington was sitting on his apartment floor right this second with his head cradled in his hand. Everything was looking to be enjoyable at that moment—that gun, that container of bleach..._ fuck _._

_Washington clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, ignoring the call and returning to his cats and movies. He didn’t cry, he wouldn’t cry on this day. No, he could to that tomorrow._


	20. Six Thousand Dollar Wine To Go With Your Twenty-Six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncomfortable sex positions, but hey! Birthday sex~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more days and then school is upon me. I said I was going to post this monday but today I need to cheer myself up and sharing with all of you tend to do that. So here we go my sweets, enjoy Felix's "bitchy" mood and a drunk Locus.

“Bam!” Felix grinned, the bottle of [Château Pétrus 1998](http://www.lcbo.com/lcbo/product/chateau-petrus-1998/315366#.Vd81cvlVikp) proudly on display as the man mocked a bow. Locus took the wine in hand, cupping the bottle with slack in his jaw. The kitchen around the four of them was a controlled chaos of pots and pans, dishes drying in the rack and others being loaded into the dishwasher. The [apple pie](http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Apple-Pie-by-Grandma-Ople/Detail.aspx?event8=1&prop24=SR_Thumb&e11=apple%20pie&e8=Quick%20Search&event10=1&e7=Recipe&soid=sr_results_p1i2) that Washington wished for finished baked hours before, it sat on the counter as the [red wine roast](http://allrecipes.com/recipe/awesome-red-wine-pot-roast/) cooked to perfection in the oven.

Dante was currently tidying up the mess that the prep work left—it was never that bad when Locus cooked. The man was always about finding order even when there wasn’t any. “This is a six thousand dollar wine, Felix,” his green eyes snapping up to stare in awe at his long time business partner.

Felix shrugged, “can’t say I don’t pamper my lovers.” He winked, tongue piecing peeking between his teeth as he went about pulling wine glasses from the top self, refusing the ask for assistance when he balanced himself up on his toes. It was a challenge to grab the fourth glass, but he did it. Grinning at the fact that no one mentioned his shorter stature—though it wasn’t like Washington was all that taller either, about an inch or two difference at most.

Washington pulled reeled him in, showering his smooth face with feather light kisses. “You didn’t have to Felix. It’s too much,” Felix had thrown four large shopping bags at him filled with designer clothes—jeans that fit snugly when Felix made his change into them, then in the next seven pairs. He didn’t bother making Washington try on the shirts, confidant in his abilities to size the man up. He was around the same size as Felix in the chest area—it was just his legs that were longer.

He matched him kiss for kiss, pulling him in and deepening it. Sliding his tongue between those teeth and pulling a soft moan from the blond, pulling him closer with a grip on those new jeans—navy blue, hugged that ass fantastically. He squeezed it, pulling away to laugh when Washington grunted. “What?” Felix teased before nipping at his spit slicked lips, “you’ve got a great ass. It’s a crime _not_ to grab it and I don’t want to break that one.”

Dante snorted, rolling his eyes at the shit Felix was saying. “Fucking suck up,” the man chuckled, arranging the glasses in front of the bottle. Sweeping his hand towards the set up, he looked to Locus and widened that smirk of his “wanna crack it open? See if it’s worth the money.”

He was like a kid in a candy store; eyes lighting up and shoulders jolting up as he turned to the other two. Wash nodded towards the drawer where Locus kept his corkscrew, _go open it_. The smile was blinding as he dove to get his opener, rooting through the drawer without a care of tidiness or order. He was so... _happy_.

Peeling the wax away, Locus couldn’t help but smirk when the metal sunk into the cork. He twisted, pulled and with a healthy _pop_ the wine was freed. Locus hummed, moaning softly with content as he took a whiff of the contents. “What a _nerd_!” Felix snickered, tucking his face into Wash’s shirt when Locus glared at him.

He began distributing the wine, lowly twisting his wrist after pouring the last glass. Swiping his finger to catch the one lone droplet and sucking at rich red liquid. His swallowed thickly, tasting— _really_ tasting the flavour of the drop. Opening his eyes to see the three of the staring at him with their amused expressions, “need a moment with the wine there Los Angeles?” Dante’s snarky comment make Felix snicker anew, even brought a grin to Wash’s lips.

“It’s good,” Locus blushed, pushing the cork back into the bottle and swapping it out to a glass. “Come, diner will be finished in another hour,” he led them out to the living room, towards the cats stealing the best spot of the sofa.

They had to move the cats, Locus calmly setting his glass to the table before gathering both Tigra and Mittens into his lap. He made himself comfortable with a lap full of pussy, Felix stealing Wash away to tuck the man between the couch and himself, leaving the other two to find love in the two cats that Locus collected.

Dante flipped on the television and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, ignore the scowl he was rewarded for it and got comfortable. Flipping through the channels until he found the Discovery Channel Shark Week segment; the majestic Great White was breaching out of the water in a grand show of power with a seal clenched in its jaws.

For hardened thieves and killers, this collection of men had a certain character aspect that made it humorous to witness. They were all huge nerds—Locus with his books and secret love for cult classics, Sharkface living up to his namesake, Felix and his need for fashion and love for romantic comedies (yes, Washington had found it stash when the man went to take a shower), and Washington... well, he was Washington.

-XXXx-

_“Say it again,” he demanded as he held the man’s face, gaze as hard as it could go while he looked at him. Their faces bruised and bloodied, stitches holding together the skin just past his hairline._

_“I love you,” the man repeated, “I love you David.”_

_Washington sighed, leaning in to lessen the space between the pair. Their foreheads pressed together as the blond gathered his breath. “Then don’t fucking do that again,” he was just a dumb kid still but_ this _, this right here, meant more to him than Leonard Church’s empire or all the money in the fucking United States. “I can’t lose you Maine, don’t worry me like that again.”_

_The man could only smile, cupping his lover’s cheek and kissing him properly. Kissing him how he did before going out on that job. “I’ll always come back D, your sister’s boyfriend calls me your trained dog for reason.”_

_Wash pulls away with a grimace, “York actually calls you that? Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder you want to punch him all the time. I mean, how many times do I need to establish that I like cats?_ Cats _. But then he’d start calling you... yeah, yeah okay. Let’s just stop correcting him and start punching.” His ears reddened as his thoughts raced, his cheeks following the same path his ears did._

-XXXxx-

Locus was loving the wine. He was loving the wine _a little too much_ , so much so that he was deeming both Dante and Felix’s palates to be too... _undeserving_ to taste such finesse such as of Château Pétrus. Felix only had a favouring for _whiskey_ and, worse still, Dante typically only enjoyed _beer_! The only one that Locus’ slowly hazy mind seemed to approve of drinking the lovely Château Pétrus was Washington; sure when the man wanted to get drunk he’d break out the pure and hard vodka, but typically he and Locus would sit and have a glass of wine.

Since he started staying here with Locus the pair had had some interesting conversations. Locus was impressed with the knowledge he had of his wines, and just how well read the blond truly was. Washington liked to pick his brain for recipes, mainly sticking to the deserts (which were arguably one of Locus’ weakest points) though occasionally branching out to vegetable dishes.

Throughout dinner Locus downed both his own, Felix’s and Dante’s glasses— _twice_. Those bastards poured themselves another glass. The roast was lovely, the candle lit dinner had Felix chuckling at—called them all romantic idiots, but promptly shut his mouth when Washington whispered a list of movies: Love Actually, Hitch, The Proposal, Roxanna, Titanic and Yes Man.

The look on Felix’s face was priceless—pale, wide-eyed. “Those are great movies, shut your fucking mouth birthday boy,” Felix hissed, trying to hide his flustered face by taking a sip of his _now empty_ glass. He glared at Locus, watching as the man made a point to slowly take a sip of his own glass. “Stop drinking my wine you damn Wine-o.”

Locus didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I donno what you’re talking about,” his eyes narrowed when he heard it. _Shit_. He took inventory of his functions—he didn’t feel tipsy, didn’t feel like he had much to drink. But... but that sentence didn’t sound right.

Both Dante and Felix had mirroring grins before Dante leaned to whisper into Washington’s ear and Felix moved the bottle of wine in front of Locus. “Here Lo, let me fill your glass up then. Might as well help ease your way into being smashed,” he winked.

Now Washington was smiling at him with that amused glint in his eye. “I’m not fuckin’ drunk,” Locus mumbled, no longer taking brisk and controlled sips from his cup. Now, this was a gulp and he felt horrible for doing it. _I’m sorry Château Pétrus,_ he thought sadly before taking another large swallow. “Not drunk,” he repeated this one quieter than before.

Dante chuckled, “yeah alright,” he began gathering the plates, carrying them off to the kitchen to stuff into the dishwasher before they’d forget about it. Locus liked his kitchen clean and the man was going to feel that wine as soon as he stood. “Felix,” Dante called from the kitchen, “let Wash enjoy drunken Locus for a bit and come help me before he sobers up and pitches a fit about his kitchen.”

The curly haired man sighed heavily, rolling his eyes at the request but leaving to assist him anyways. Running his hand through Washington’s hair as he passed, Felix snickered out a quick “have fun babe.” He slipped around the corner and suddenly four became two in such short amount of time. Two became one remaining at the table when Locus stood, a sway in his steps as he migrated from the table to the living room.

Washington followed him, watching when the man paused and stared down at his hands. He’s pouting— _Locus is pouting_ and it’s adorable. Locus is adorable as he curls his fingers slowly, that pout only growing deeper. “I’ve drank too much,” he sulks, fingers wiggling—they must be tingling.

Washington cooed, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and hugging him tightly. "You did almost polish off that bottle by yourself." Fingers slipping under the hem of Locus’ shirt, ghosting over the fine dark hairs leading up from his pants—the muscles fluttered under his touch and Washington grinning into the man’s shoulder blade.

Locus curled his fingers again, "did'int want them to drink any. They don't even like wine." It made perfect sense—why waste such fine wine when they wouldn’t enjoy it? Locus had beer in the fridge. Locus had _a lot_ of beer in the fridge. European beer, Canadian beer, American beer—he had choices damn it.

"Awwww sweetheart, you only let me share with you! You're adorable," he teased and the man stopped sulking down at his fingers and turned his green gaze to Wash. Turning in his hold to really look at the man. Taking in those freckles and scars, those brown lashes framing blue-gray eyes (they always looked like a storm but today they were more blue than gray).

"You’re really fucking pretty," is all the warning Wash gets before he's crowded back—pushed and led—against the couch where they flip over the back and land with a startling jolt. It doesn't stop Locus. Doesn’t even register other than he’s got Washington pin and they’re pressed together. It’s all the really matters in his mind at that moment. That fall only seemed to spur the man on to kiss down Wash's neck and lather the scars with licks and kisses. "Really fucking pretty. Wow. Yes give me, just all of you."

He was affectionate; kissing and licking over his scars, sucking weakly at his jaw before nipping at Washington’s nose with a small childish grin. He could feel his face colour under all the affection, under the pampering and butterfly kisses. “Well—well you’re cute,” Wash chipped back, feeling the sway the man began taking in-between his legs. Left and right, back and worth—like a cat’s tail swaying with content, swaying with pride.

He tasted primarily of wine when their tongue’s met, sliding and pressing against one another. Still as slow and kind and content as always—like there was all the time in the world for kissing Washington, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Locus pulled away with a peck to his lips to tug his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor by his feet.

Washington struggled with his own in his position draped over the couch, wiggling and jostling as fought to tug it up and over his head. “Fucking new shirt,” he hissed, able to free one arm before giving up and pulling the man back down to his level.

“Don’t you ruin it,” Felix called out, his socked covered feet smacking loudly against the wooden floors as he returned with Dante is tow. Both had a bottle of beer in hand, finally able to enjoy a beverage without Locus stealing it away from them. The pair quirked their heads to the side, taking in the position they found the others on the couch. “Huh.”

Locus didn’t hear them, continuing to shower one kiss after the other upon the blond. Washington smiled, fingers waggling at them as they made their way closer. “Room for two more?” Dante smirked, knuckles sliding up and over the bumps and groves of Locus’ spine. The man tensed pulling back from the dark purple mark he was working onto Wash’s neck, brow furrowing as he pieced together.

Felix took a sip of the bottle in his hand, “I call Locus’ ass.”

“No.” He pulled back up; hair mused and tussled, glaring fiercely at his business partner. “Fuck no,” he snarled, “last time I let you at my back you shot it. Twice.” Washington nearly forgot the tension that he sensed between the two of them—back when they were still working that first job. He had called something like this, didn’t he? A betrayal of some sort. “Dante can fuck me but _you’re_ staying away from my fucking back.”

Felix hissed, “You’re always bringing this up when you’ve hit the fucking bottle. It was like three years ago, fuck off with it. You can hardly even see the wounds you fucking baby.”

Wash groaned, pointing to Dante, “Go get the lube? Please.” The man winked, blowing Washington a kiss before traveling down the hall to the bedroom to get the tools needed to progress this evening. “Felix, babe, I’ve got you.” He tucked his freed arm behind his head, batting his lashes when the man glanced down at him from the other side of the couch.

“How can I say no to that face,” Felix smirks. And like that the momentary tension is gone, lifted as Felix rounds the couch and pulls his shirt over his head. It’s sloppy with his beer still in hand and it isn’t until he sets it down does the ease return to his posturing. How he rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and kneels to claim Washington’s lips.

“I need you to help me get this shirt off,” the blond whispered, between pecks and brief slides of tongue. Locus’ fingers fumbling with his belt and zipper of his new _tight_ (Jesus fuck they felt so fucking tight now) jeans, tugging at them. Felix’s gaze swept over him, lingering at the shirt before trailing over to the scars on his neck and the tattoo on his pectoral, over the constellations of freckles that expanded over the entirety of his body.

His clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Well. Can’t have you ruining the clothes I just got you so,” he forced a sigh. Pushing at his arm, pulling it one way and the other before he could slip the sleeve off, then finally pulled the collar off and away from his head. “Gotta admit that you look good though in that,” he pressed another kiss to his lips, humming when the man opened up so easily. Deepening the kiss without any prompting on Felix’s side.

Dante returned without much of a peep, the strip of condoms and bottle of lube smacking Wash’s chest as he tucked himself behind Locus. Kissing the man’s tense shoulders, his back, over the scars of bullet wounds and cuts, before traveling back up to nip at his ear and whisper a greeting that had Locus’ snorting and smirking at.

Felix and Washington continued their exchange of saliva while Dante and Locus worked on removing pants. “You haven’t gotten any for awhile, have you?” the tattooed man purred, pushing Locus’ pants and boxers down to his knees. The dark skinned man fought with the material bunching around Washington’s ankles cursing under his breath as he finally got those damn pants off (and of course the briefs underneath).

Locus shook his head in the negative, plucking the bottle from Washington’s chest—avoiding the roaming fingers belonging to Felix—and coating his fingers with substance and prodding between the blond’s cheeks. Washington’s moan smothered with Felix’s lips, tongue and teeth—his smug brown eyes locking with Locus’ as he devoured the man’s sounds. The wine he consumed made him impatient, made him press for more and he quickly slid the second digit in.

“I’ll make you feel good,” Dante whispered, nipping Locus’ shoulder blades as the man fingered Washington. Slipping his own lube slicked fingers down between those dark skinned cheeks, circling round the hole. “I can take it nice and slow,” he slid in, biting at the scar tissue spread over the man’s shoulder. Middle finger crooking just so, just enough to send his hips bucking and to start biting at his lips to keep silent—he never did like to make much noise.

The wine made him feel fuzzy, made him react _strange_ —got him to push back and spread his legs further. “Add another,” he demanded, swallowing down the saliva accumulating in his mouth. In front of him laid Washington spread out over his couch, before him was Felix pulling down his pants and leaning over Washington’s face. Pushing his cock into that mouth of his—he could see the length push down his throat, could see him take Felix in without a gag. “Shit,” he bit out, licking his lips.

“It’s a shame we won’t hear him beg,” Dante taunted in his ear, “but you’re used to it by now, right? You’ve got to be fucking him just about every night now.” Locus could only groan, tilting his hips back to take the fingers—he lost count of how many slipped in when he was distracted.

“Like that,” Felix hissed, pressing against the blond’s freckled chest. He sucked in with a hiss, hips jerking when Wash began sucking at his head. “Suck a lot of dick, blondie? You’re good at it. Though I recommend you stick to eating ass, you’re a lot better at that.” His chuckle drew short as a loud moan tore its way from his throat. “ _Ah!_ ”

Dante’s fingers left an empty feeling within him as they withdrew, reaching round to grab the condom packages that slipping onto the couch cushion beside Washington and handing one to Locus and keeping the other for himself. Locus withdrew, hiking the blond up closer and pressing a kiss to the inside of the man’s knee.

-XXXxxx-

_He pulled him close, covering the man’s mouth with his hand. “Hush,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder as the sound of footsteps passed the opening of the alley they were hiding in. He ducked his head, hiding in the junction of his neck and shoulder and pressed his lips to the other man’s neck._

_“My sister, North and Maine are going to_ kill _you,” he hissed back, turning his face away from the opening of the alley and towards the older man. The club they were supposed to be staking out was a block to their left; the plan was dumb but it worked. The group passed by with a snort when they saw them all wrapped up in the other._

_They stood there for another minute before slipping out of the alley and back towards their objective._

-XXXxxxx-

Pushing into Locus was something exhilarating; finding that pace that made the man lose that quiet edge and moan out as his hips jerked between pushing further into Washington or back against Dante was just... _beautiful_. “ _Fuck!_ ” he snarled, tossing his head back. Mouth dropping as sweet slicked hands grasped at Wash’s legs.

He wasn’t kind with his teeth—biting bruises into the man’s back, his shoulders, even the back of his arms was fair game. Pulling him back, pushing him forwards—the sounds he was pulling from him. He always knew Locus had the ability of being loud in bed. Loud when he wasn’t so focused on getting his partners to sing for him—too focused on remembering their sounds than making his own.

“That’s right— _fuck_ ; you’ve got a tight ass.” Dante cursed, slamming into the taller man and forcing a moan out of _Washington_.

“Shit—shit, fuck. Teeth!” Felix shouted pulling his cock from the blond’s bruising mouth. Thumb spreading the spit and pre-cum down his length and checked the piercings at the tip of his cock—finding nothing wrong Felix glared at the man behind Locus, “watch it Fishface.”

The man grinned, throwing a wink his way and a snide “I thought you liked teeth, Felix.”

-XXXX-

_He was falling for him, falling for him harder than he should be, even David knew that. How easy it was for the man’s voice to pull him back into the mind of Washington. How even when the bad morning were upon them and Washington hugged the man’s toilet, Locus would run his fingers through his hair before running water into a cup and grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste._

_Washington was able to go back to sleep with him; after he’d take his medication and brush his teeth and drink that glass of water. He’d allow Locus to lead him back to bed where Mittens and Tigra awaited, curling back under the silk like sheets and sleeping for another hour or two before arising again to begin their day properly._

_He was falling for him, falling for him harder than he should be, even Alpha knew that. How easy it was to take up the space beside him while he looked over the engine and cursed under his breath about a part he’d need to buy. How even though both Dante and Washington knew that the blond had no idea about the inner workings of a car, the older man would still accept his helping hands and company while he tinkered._

_The dark haired man often surprising him with quick pecks to his lips or cheeks or nose when Washington would assume that he was focused on the task at hand. At breaks they’d line up cans and fire at them; casting bets and forming wagers. Washington was a_ very good _shot._

_He was... well, Felix was an interesting case and even_ Leonard Church _could see it. Could see it and scold his son, and the monster he turned him into, about finding any bit about the man attractive. Leonard couldn’t see it—couldn’t see the appeal of a man like Felix._

_He didn’t listen to orders, he was a risk to those around him—a dog that needed to be leashed, muzzled, and collared. He was rabid and feral and held no benefit to him or his operation or his son._

_It was lucky for Washington (for David, Epsilon, and Alpha too) that he was never fond of his Father. That the memories of the man that he had within him didn’t paint him as a good father to his son either—no, he was a Father to Carolina more than Washington. But even then the only thoughts that seemed to stem from Leonard was about his wife (and Washington’s mother)._

-XXXXx-

Felix jerked himself, groaning loudly before spilling his seed all over Washington’s face—over his cheek, nose, over his lips and chin. He grinned to himself, chuckling when his actions stole the man’s breath away. Stole his focus from his pleasure and forcing him to shift his attention to his face, to the cum covering it.

“You missed my mouth,” he stated, eyes fluttering closed again when Locus pulled his legs closer.

“Wasn’t aiming for your mouth,” Felix teased and tucked himself back into his pants. Leaving them undone, Felix took in the sight that he wasn’t fully able to admire before. Before it was all about Washington’s lips around his cock—about fucking down his throat and ignoring the others; he wasn’t too thrilled with them. Here Felix was buying them nice wine and being _nice_ , and he was met with Locus snapping at him and being denied an ass.

Locus looked good taking it up the ass and he voiced it. “Aww, look at Locus being a good little bitch,” and was promptly met with a green eyed glare and a snarl. Felix grinned that toothy grin of his, leaning over the blond and wrapping his lips around the head of his cock.

He didn’t bother bobbing, taking only to sucking and licking—toying and pressing the ball of his tongue piercing to the slit of his penis, down the lap around the head before hollowing his cheeks for a long suck. His moans were delicious now that he could enjoy the sheer volume of it—it had felt good around his cock too, but that was a different time. Pulling away with a pop Felix glanced down towards and opened his mouth to tease him.

He wasn’t expecting the man to cum right then—to shutter and cry out, spilling his cum in ribbons onto Felix’s forehead. Into his _hair_. Into his _fucking **eye**_.

Felix jolted, stumbling back with a loud curse. “Fucking hell, son of a bitch—fuck, cocksucking— _shiiit_ ,” he ignored the confused call out of his name from Washington as he blindly made his way to the bathroom to clean out his eye—to clean his _face_.

Washington’s gaze followed the smallest man as he rushed from the room, bumping into the couch and then the wall corner. “I should—” Locus’ hands flew to his arms, pulling him up uncomfortably. His back was already hurting and this new position he found himself into left him clutching onto the man and he pounded into him.

“I’m close,” he hissed that quickly broke out into a low groan. Locus pressed their lips together, seeking out the other man’s lips in a sudden need for familiarity, comfort even. Ignoring the cum spreading between their faces.

Felix’s cum transferring to Locus’ face; his cheek, into his mouth as they swapped spit, dirtying his chin and nose. It was filthy, it was _messy_ but fuck it Locus didn’t care—didn’t even _feel_ it as he clung to the man and whimpered into his mouth. Cumming in a sudden spasm that started in his hips and spread throughout his body.

Dante kissing at his shoulders, cooing just loud enough for both to hear, whispering his praise towards the pair. Petting Washington’s legs as he kissed the worst of the marks he left on Locus as he pulled out and watched Locus do the same on shaky feet. “We should take a shower. Wash that cum of your faces before we get drunky here some well needed sleep,” he nodded towards Locus whose gaze grew fuzzy the more he fought to keep himself standing.

Wash slid from the back of the couch with a hiss, clutching at his back with a grimace. “The heat would do me good. Maybe some painkillers too,” he replied taking hold of Locus’ hand and tugging him along. “Come on love, let’s clean our faces and go to bed.”


	21. Kitty Kat Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigra gets hurt, Felix and Locus have another fight, Dante puts a foot down... and well, Wash gains another cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor animal injury.

It was always Locus and Washington—Locus and Washington go to the store, Locus and Washington go... fuck, who knows that those two did. They were _living together_ now. Felix wouldn’t say he was jealous... but, well, he was. He liked being the focus of people’s attentions and often went about achieving those attentions in a poor and bloody matter.

Locus wasn’t _mad_ at him—not anymore than usual. And the conversations with Dante didn’t always have thinly veiled insults thrown at each other. It was a progress to what they had before—though Locus was no longer having pity sex with him (or was it desperation sex? Or was it hate sex? No, the sex with sharkbait was hate sex). Though _Washington was_... having sex with him that is... like _just_ hot bodied sex—no pity, hate or negative feelings involved.

And Washington sunk to his knees easily—he was a generous lover and a _skilled one_ at that. He’s stated that he wanted to see just how sensitive that Prince Albert piercing made Felix—spent one whole session just stimulating him around his head.

That _tease_.

“Wash and Locus went out to run errands, I’m watching the apartment.” It was an invitation if Felix ever heard it; rolling over in his large king sized bed and checking the clock from across the room. “Locus is making curry, said to call you.” Now _that_ was certainly an invitation if Felix had ever heard one—he has, he’s had _many_ invitations thrown his way... most, if not all, involving sex at one point. If he played the night right he’d more than likely get some nookie tonight as well—this _was_ Felix you’re talking about.

Felix moaned; Locus’ curry was fantastic. He hasn’t had it since they’ve met Washington. “I’ll be there in like an hour,” he kissed the air, smiling when the man replied with his own kissing sound and hanging up.

They had agreed that they wouldn’t force anything romantic between the three of them—they were business partners first, dated and _liked_ the same guy while having sex together second. If something were to develop... well, then it _happens_. But they weren’t going to start rubbing sticks together and hopping to ignite some fire within them. No, Washington was the gooey romantic sap that held them together and that’s what they were happy with. What they felt _comfortable_ with.

Getting ready took awhile for Felix—he had to shower and clean his piercings, had to find something that looked edible before he’d brush his teeth, he had to style his hair and plan his outfit. Perfection took time but when he was ready he was _ready_.

Twirling his keys round and round his finger Felix whistled a tune on the way down to the garage to his pride and joy: the Kawasaki Ninja H2R with orange accents. He liked going fast, liked the feeling of just having a leather jacket and a helmet between him and death. Loved the danger, the rush of zipping past cars and taking sharp turns.

He warned the man that he was on his way before throwing a leg over the bike and pushing his orange and black helmet over his head.

-XXXXxxx-

Felix greeted the other man with a loud “Sup motherfucker?!” as he entered the apartment and chucked his helmet to the couch. His heavy boots stomping around the on the wood flooring, typically not allowed, until he found the man routing through drawer for a fork with a large slice of pie already on his plate.

Dante pointed to the fridge, “Lo stocked up on beer so help yourself.” Felix’s heavy boots sounded louder than normal against Locus’ hardwood floors. He got a special little giddy feeling each step he took. Locus’ main _rule_ in his house was ‘no shoes’, he hated dirt on his floors and prided himself in keeping his place neat and organized—even with the new additions of Washington and the cats.

Mittens had always stuck to himself, happily lounging on couches or hidden in a different room. The only person the male cat acted almost... _kitten-like_ with was Locus. Playing with his fingers and chasing after the socks he’d throw for the cat to tear after. He’d sleep perched on the man’s back or side as Locus slept, purring faintly.

Tigra was the friendlier one out of the two. The orange fluffy beast always greeting the men when they’d return to the apartment. So, it wasn’t surprising of the cat to jog up to Felix when he slipped back out of the kitchen with a beer in hand.

“So how lon—”

The cry that sounded was pained—heart wrenchingly painful it broke into a yowl, the bottle slipped from his fingers as he dropped to the floor. Tigra curling her paw towards her chest, not yet darting away to hide. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Dante stormed over, vaulting over the back of the couch to conserve time, taking the cat from the other man and shouldering his way pass and into the kitchen.

He set the cat on the island, hushing her when she began to fuss. Felix _panicked_ behind him, “shit. _Shit!_ Is she okay? I think I stepped on her paw.” He grimaced almost uncharacteristically—he was growing soft.

“You better hope that Wash doesn’t find out.”

Felix winces—he’s been spoiled lately, more then what he was used to. Washington liked contact, he liked the emotional attachment that came with the contact—Felix was starting to _enjoy_ it, he was starting to _yearn_ for it. He was actually _concerned_ that his actions would hurt him, would actually hurt Washington rather than Felix’s changes _with_ him.

Tigra fussed as Dante reached for her paw, hissing when the man’s fingers grow too close. “We’re going to have to call Locus,” Dante sighed, fishing his phone from his pants. “Get me an icepack and that hand towel beside the stove; I’m going to see about icing her foot until Locus and Wash return.”

He set the phone on speaker, leaving it on the counter beside the cat to fight the beast into his arms to apply the icepack wrapped in a towel. Locus answers on the second ring; the intercom in the background faintly asking for someone to clean up aisle three as Locus insisted that Washington continue on as he took the call. "What did Felix do?" He says as soon as the blond leaves.

Felix snarls, making a lunge to the phone to defend himself. "Felix may have broken Tigra's foot."

There's silence for a moment before a tight, "excuse me?"

Dante gestures for the man to grab the phone, explain the situation. And the man does, like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, Felix plucks the phone from the counter. "I was walking with my boots on and she was underfoot,” Locus sucks in a breath, “wanting attention and I stepped on her. I didn’t see her until she cried out.” He threw a panicked glance up at the other man as the silence grew on the other end. “Do we take her to the vet?"

More silence.

"Put some ice on her foot and I’ll look at it when Wash and I return home. Keep her resting until we get back.” Dante and Felix could hear Washington’s voice on the other end asking who was on the phone. “Oh and Felix? There's a mop and bucket in the closest by the main bathroom. You're mopping my fucking floors.”

They stared at each other, situation slowly dawning on them—the _depth_ of it fully processing. “I’m so _fucked_ ,” Felix snarled, fists clenching at his side itching to strike something. “FUCK!” he yelled, storming out of the kitchen with as much noise as possible—stomping his feet, kicking his boots off by the door, then throwing mop and bucket out of the closest and sending it clattering along the flooring.

-XXXXxxxx-

Washington was quiet, frightenly quiet as Tigra rested on the cat bed with her pretty bright green cast on her front right foot. The apartment smelled of floor cleaner still despite the fact that Felix cleaned hours ago. Locus’ chest heaving under Dante’s hand as he caught his breath between his long winded and _loud_ rant—Locus actually _yelled_ at him, he yelled to the point that Dante had to place a hand in the center of the man’s chest to take a breath.

“It was an accident,” Dante stressed, hand firmly fisting the man’s shirt in case he decides to go off again. Felix’s breath puffed against Dante’s back, fingers digging into the small of his back as he gripped the man’s shirt. “It’s not _your_ cat, its Washington’s.” They turn their gaze to Washington; the blond still petting his cat quietly on the floor.

Wash’s gaze panned slowly up towards them, “c’mer Felix,” he nodded to the spot beside him on the floor. The man was immediately moving, springing into action and falling into an uncoordinated heap beside him. Washington pulled him into a one armed hug, pressing their foreheads together. “I want you to stay here for a week. For the first couple of days I’ll ask you to sleep on the couch where you can stay close to Tigra. I’m not mad,” Washington sighed, nudging their noses together.

Felix’s brow furrowed in confusion, “why aren’t you _mad_? You should be yelling.” He didn’t _need_ this pity compassion, didn’t need the _kindness_ or the touch—he didn’t understand! Why wasn’t he on his feet like Locus? Why wasn’t he breaking his composure and... a-and throwing him out?

The blond tsked, “Sure I’m disappointed that this happened but it was an _accident_ ,” he threw a pointed glance at Locus with that pleased when the man curled in on himself ever the slightest. Losing the anger, the _bite_ in his temper. “We’ve been sitting around doing nothing for too long,” he turned his attention back to the brown haired man at his side. “So, seeing that it was an _accident_ that you were a part of you’ll be the primary caretaker while she heals.”

-XXXXX-

It’s a good thing that the couch was comfortable, though lonely even with the orange cat medicated and snuggled on top of his naked chest. “I feel like a whipped bitch,” he exhaled, the cat blinking her eyes open to stare up at him in confusion. “This is why you shouldn’t go all sweet on someone,” he continued, teaching the cat his knowledge on the situation. “You think ‘well it’s not like i’m going to change or anything’ and the next minute they’ve got you by the balls and you learn to _like it_. All ‘yes shower me with affection’. I can’t make fun of Lo or douche canoe anymore now can I?” He cursed, licking his lips as he ran his fingers through her fur.

-XXXXXx-

He needs to give her her medication roughly every eight hours. Alarm going off at five, Felix groans pinching his eyes open and groaning again when the alarm continued to blare and the sun was rising up. The cat mewed from his chest, spurring him into action. Silencing his alarm, Felix gathered the fluffy beastie into his arms and carried her into the kitchen where her medication was ready for him on the counter.

He went through the same steps as the night before: grab the _thing_ , suck the proper amount of medication into the applicant and then stuff it into the cat’s mouth and make sure she drinks it down. She held still during the procedure, licking her chops when he removed the squirter. Tossing it into the sink to clean later Felix grabbed the wet food from the fridge and a plate from the cabinet; spooning out the mess with a grimace, Tigra mewed happily behind him. Screaming her cat-like demands for sustenance.

“You’re very demanding,” the man mused, setting the mushy food beside the orange cat on the counter. Petting her as she gobbled it down—the pain had kept her from eating much, and keeping it down, yesterday—Felix smirked when he felt the rumbles begin under his palm. “Though easy to please,” he chuckled.

He was never much of a cat person before Washington; never really saw the need to get a pet. He wasn’t often home and it’ll just be another thing to tie him to one place. He couldn’t have that. “I’ll admit that you’re a very pretty thing,” he murmured, itching right in the middle of her spine. “Not as pretty as me, but y’know... different things and all that.”

Shit, he was talking to a cat at 5:30AM. He rubbed a hand over his face with a groan, “ _shit_ , let’s just go back to bed now or something. Fuck,” He plucked the cat from the counter cradling her in his arms as he left the kitchen and made his way back to his couch, turning the lights off in his wake. He placed the cat in her bed, ensuring that the pillow he left was positioned under her feet to keep any weight off if she were to return to sleep. He left her there, giving her the option to do whatever it is that cats do without having to jump off the couch to do it.

He fell back to sleep as soon as his head returned to his pillow.

-XXXXXxx-

He woke up when a weight curled against his side, tucking itself under the blanket. Lips pressed to his cheek and a warm, calming voice eased him from his slumber. “Thank you for this,” Washington’s voice like silk in his ear as he pressed kiss after kiss to the man’s cheek. “Just one more night on the couch then you can come back to bed,” he cooed, knuckles brushing over his jaw and down his neck.

Felix hummed sleepily, “you’re being sweet on me,” he teased, pleased by the news that he just had tonight left on the couch before he got to steal all of Washington’s warmth throughout the night. He really was sweet on him; it was sickening—yet he didn’t want it to end.

“Well, I want you to take a shower and come out shopping with me today so... figured buttering you up a bit would convince you.” The tip of his nose was chilled compared to Felix’s as the nuzzled together. “You’re also cuddly when you first wake up,” the blond added with a grin, pressing a kiss to his pierced lips and idling.

Felix hummed, “the others?” He tucked himself into the man’s arms, puckering his lips for another kiss. The blond swept him into another, fingers weaving into the man’s brown hair as lips parted and tongues greeted the other in long swipes and a casual slide. The pair detangled, surfacing for a breath their lungs not yet aching for.

“D’ll be out close to the beach visiting a friend; Locus has a client he’s meeting with.”

Ah, Felix had forgotten about that. After all, the client wanted stealth and Felix would rather _not_ make his primary occupation all about _not being seen_ —if you’re going to kill someone as a message you do it _as a message_. But, the client wanted it under the table and kept quiet, then Locus would keep it quiet and under the table.

His predatory like grin returning as he rolled his lover onto his back, covering him with Felix’s mass. “Then I should get dolled up then,” his voice rumbling suggestively, nipping at the air by his nose. “You should join me, help wash my back,” he winked, sticking his tongue out at the man.

Washington chuckled pushing Felix’s face away, “I already took one, or I might have taken you up on your offer. Though... Dante is still looking to shower before leaving; maybe you can convince him to accompany you.” Felix forced a dramatic pout on his lips, rolling from his lover and standing with his typical cat-like grace.

“Boo~” he teased, rolling his shoulders as he left the room. Calling out one, “I’m taking a shower! If you’re joining I’m expecting an orgasm out of it!” before leaving the public eye of his significant others and into the bathroom with the larger shower.

-XXXXXxxx-

The warm spray a lovely contrast to the cool tiles pressed to his back as Dante claimed his lips. Felix huffed, biting and pulling at them. “Chop chop,” he grinned, thrusting his hips forwards and grinding his cock against the man’s hip.

Dante’s knuckles followed a stream down the man’s neck followed later with his teeth, with his tongue, nudging and pressing until Felix sighed and gave in. Lashes fluttering shut when the man’s lips traveled south; following water down Felix’s chest—raking his teeth over the sensitive nub before continuing further still.

His tongue pressed to the head of Felix’s cock, brown eyes glancing up at him as he tongued the piercing there. Flicking his tongue over it, traversing down to tease the frenulum and the other end of the man’s piercing. Rolling his tongue over the metal, pushing and pulling it through the hole. Felix moaned, “fucking _teasing_ fuck.”

Hips buckling, Dante took pity on the man. He needed to mention something before he’d leave with Wash. He wrapped his hand around the base, sinking down until his lips met his own skin. Bobbing and sucking, moaning and tonguing over the cock. It wasn’t supposed to make him last; quick and simple, before moving onto the main event—today was a conversation... and a shower.

Fingers tangling in the hair behind his ear, hips snapping forwards until he came with a wordless shout. Chest heaving like he had just ran a marathon, sucking in the steam filled air and coughing it out. Dante slunk back to his feet, pulling the man’s face towards his for a kiss.

He pushed Felix’s own cum into his mouth, keeping their lips pressed together no matter Felix’s muffled complaints and glare. They swallowed. Emotions varying upon the action.

“You need to behave today,” Dante warned, licking his lips. The taste of Felix fresh and potent.

The man snorted, rolling his eyes and planting his hands on the taller man’s shoulders. “How about... you go fuck yourself. You do you today, I do me. What blondie and I do isn’t really something you need to worry about.” First Locus yesterday and now Dante today; he needed a break, just a bone thrown his way.

“Wash and Locus had an argument about him yelling at you last night when we went to bed.” That was news to Felix; he hadn’t heard anyone fighting. Door closed or not, if Locus was feeling bitchy Felix would’ve heard about it. “This _thing_ isn’t just from the shit with Tigra, Wash and I both know that. But whatever the fuck it is that’s making the two of you butt heads needs to either be solved or pushed aside ‘cause, like it or not, the two of you are sharing Washington with _me_ as well and I’m not going to see him get dragged into whatever mess you two have.”

Felix glared, teeth grinding together as he took in the warning—the _information_. “Fine,” he eventually answered, plucking the soap from the self and thrusting it into the tattooed chest. “Now wash my fucking back.”

-XXXXXxxxx-

They go looking at _cats_ of all things. Visiting a shelter where Wash smiled and sweet talked the lady as she led them towards the cages where they kept their cats. She told them to get introduced to them, that she’d be returning shortly—something about someone needing help with one of the dogs. Washington only smiled some more and nodded.

“Why are you getting another cat?” Felix glared at the wall of cages as Wash tugged him along behind him. Further away from the kittens, away from the more _desired_ cats. Washington was looking for cats that had _character_.

“Tigra reminds me of you,” he stated, looking into the catches with a smile. He stopped, wiggling his fingers at a cage with a Mama cat and her kittens—he couldn’t _not_ see these babies. “Mittens is a lot like Locus.” His neck began to pinken, the blush spreading fast when Felix caught his gaze before it darted back towards the kittens. “So...” he cleared his throat.

Felix snorts, “you’re getting a third cat so... so you have one to remind you of Sharkboy?!” His laughter; _loud_ hysterical cackles, bouncing off the walls as he folded in on himself, hand clenching his gut as he threatened to ache.

Washington’s flustered cheeks continued to burn as he hid behind his hand, shoulders tucking in close. “Shuddappp!” he slurred out, quickly scurrying away from the hysterical man as he worked himself into a frenzy. Felix continued, laughing _and laughing_ until he was but a giggling noodle on the floor. Hand pressed against the tile in an effort to keep himself up right and _some-what_ functional. He alternated between snickers and wheezes, sucking in breath after breath after the humor finally grew old.

He needed that. Needed that moment of just mindless _dumb_ laughter—he hadn’t laughed like that in awhile.

Wash was sitting in front of one of the cage, finger waggling between the bars when Felix finally looked to him. A small smile on his lips as he cooed to the feline within. He glanced up towards Felix, waving him over. “Come see,” he grinned turning back to the cat.

The cat was a judgemental thing; those bright yellow eyes narrowed as he stared at the two studying him. His fur looked like silk, inky black in colouring. His slowly swaying tail missing patches of fur, giving away some rough past—it went well with the fur patches he was missing on his legs as well. Those ears torn along the edges, the tips gone through cat fights. He looked like an alley cat type.

“Well...” Felix’s brow furrowed, humming as he continued to take the cat’s appearance into detail. “Does he have a name?”

Wash pointed to the paper with a grin.

**EBONY**

-x-

Ebony was extremely well behaved. Didn’t cry or hiss or meow when Wash gathered him into his arms and carried him to his car. He was held the whole time when Washington refused to put the cat in the cardboard carrying case they gave him for transport.

The cat only alternated between looking up at Wash then out the window before back up to Wash. Even the introductions to both Tigra and Mittens went surprisingly well considered the fact that one was injured and the other somewhat of a dick to new arrivals. Only a couple of minutes of yowling; no hissing or claws, no fights. It was... _nice_. It made him happy.

When Locus and Dante return to the apartment that night it's been approximately three hours since they've introduced the cats. Ebony currently grooming Tigra on Wash's lap where he also has Mittens cuddled up as well, the three lounging together as their blond human showered them with affection. "There's three. Why are there three?"

Felix snickered, "Wash wanted to match with his boyfriends. Something about wanting to get one that reminds him of you." He neck bent back so he could get a better angle of the two men at the entrance of the living room.

Dante's eyes widen and his cheeks colour. Sounding breathless as he lets out a, "What?" He quickly made his way to the three cats and the two men on the couch to get a look at the cat. The first thing he notices is that he has scars; a show of the tough life he's led.

"I'm going to spoil him rotten, he deserves it." Wash's face darkens as he pets his new baby, fingers itching the patch of fur right behind his ear.

Dante pulls him into a bruising, passionate kiss. One after the other, until they pull away for a breath and the man's mouth opens. Eyes soft as he struggles to release the words from his tongue—from his head. His mouth clicks shut, pressing his lips to the blond's once more instead—gentle, loving.

He isn’t quite ready to say it, not ready to admit it—not yet.


	22. Shatter The Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Locus duke it out without thinking about the consequences...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted them to work it out, they got their heads out of their asses... only to send Wash into a panic.
> 
> Warning: Dissociation. Violence

Washington and Dante were gone by the time Locus got out of the shower; a note on the coffee table had his jaw clenching: **_work things out with Felix. I’ll be home later._** Had his teeth grinding as he crumpled up the paper and tossed the ball across the room.

“I see you saw it too,” Felix crossed his arms over the back of the couch. Chin resting on his folded arms, lips pulled tight into a crooked smirk. “So,” he straightened, vaulting over the back of the couch and landed with a loud _whompf_. “ _Talk_ Locus, share with your old childhood friend the troubles of the world that affects you.” He mocked, patting the couch cushion beside him.

“You are insufferable,” the man stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Speak normally, I don’t feel like pulling out a dictionary if you’re going to bitch again. You got your yell in last week, now use normal people words.”

His brow twitched, “you’re a cunt.” It was quick, a speedy response—like the word had been at the tip of his tongue the whole time. “Don’t insult me for your scarcity of vocabulary.”

Felix snarled, jumping to his feet. “Who was the one making us money while _you_ tossed around the idea of going to school?!” He shoved the man back a step, filling it with one of his own.

“Part of the fucking _job_ was to earn the target’s trust before killing him!” he yelled grabbing the man’s tight gray shirt and tossed him back towards the couch. Both knew what job he mentioned; of course he brought it up, it was the only time that he shot the man in the back. “The job was to earn his fucking trust, get the sensitive information and _kill him_. Instead you shot me _twice_ when my back was turned—what, couldn’t put a bullet in me while I could see your fucking face?”

Felix’s eyes flashed dangerously, “You hesitated. _You_ hesitated!”

“I denied his demand!” Locus bore his teeth, green eyes narrowed as, again, Felix jumps to his feet and returns to Locus’ personal space.

“You still _thought about it_! So I fucking gave you a reason to never hesitate again,” their anger growing. Rationality all but disappearing now that their buffers were gone—Washington and Dante wanted them to ‘fix their problems’ then fuck it they’d face this bullshit. “Ever since Washingslut batted his fucking eyelashes at you you’ve been a bitch. What, he hasn’t fucked the stick out of your ass yet?”

He snarled, “Don’t start.”

Locus’ warning only spurred him on, “Yeah? Is that so? What the fuck are you gonna do, huh? You already _agreed_ to this little situation.” He sneered, knowing that the look would only flare his temper. Locus hated it. Hated the glint he’d get in his eyes to couple the look. “Can’t be jealous now—oh,” he snapped his fingers, “speaking of that, why aren’t I hearing about how close Sharky-boy and Wash are getting? What’s so special about me, huh?” His sneer growing into a devilish smirk, “or are you nervous that you can’t have his attention on you? Does he think about me when he sucks you off, does he moan my name when you _fuck him_?”

His face twitching, body tensed as Felix continued to poke and prod; digging in with harsh words and a twisted grin. Felix took hold of the man’s hair pulling him down to blow hot air onto his face. “You’re jealous; you’ve always been an embodiment of envy—green eyes and all.” Locus’ brow twitched, lip curling in preparation to snap.

“You could never let me have something, could you? Always had to steal it away and _ruin it_.” He finally spoke. Voice steady, harsh and deep as he held the man’s gaze with a glare. “You’re foul—a poison tainting everything around you.”

He pushed the tall man away; when Locus stumbled, catching himself with the arm of the couch Felix swung. His ring covered fist connecting with the man’s jaw and he tumbled, falling to the wooden floor with a hiss. “He’s already ruined! You think that amount of crazy is _normal?!_ What the fuck else can I do, huh? What could _I_ do that _you_ couldn’t either? You’re not exactly Prince-fucking-Charming!”

The back of his head cracked against the floor, Locus’ weight pinning him down. He saw spots, stars and colours—then he felt the two solid punches to his face. The second splitting his lip; rolling his hips, bucking them up and sending the man sprawling for balance Felix curled an arm around Locus’. Tugging and bucking with his hips to send them rolling; Felix pulled the knife from his pants and brought it down to the man’s neck. Or, he _tried to_ —Locus knocked the blade away and scampered back.

Their chests heaved with each breath, “he’s not crazy,” is all Locus is able to pant out before Felix pounces. The taller man plucks him from the air, tossing him back over the couch and into the slim table he had tucked against it. His couch was a large L-shaped thing, as comfortable as a cloud in comparison the other’s couches—Locus only enjoyed the best of furniture to read in.

The table splinters apart under Felix’s weight, the vase that once held white lilies shatter and squashed under the man’s ass. “You son of a bitch!” Felix calls out, punctuated with a groan, from behind the couch. He can hear him shifting, moving and Locus lifts the fallen blade from the floor.

“You tried to _kill me_!” He stressed, toying with the blade in his hand. Felix props himself up with the assistance of both the wall and a side table, fingers grabbing the lamp and tearing the cord from the wall. He threw it, lampshade and all towards him. Locus dodged, smug expression shattering with his television screen.

“Maybe next time _you’ll fucking die!_ ” Felix snarled, diving for another projectile as his knife embedded itself into the wall above his head. “You missed!” he pulled his arm back, firing the glass vase at the man’s head. He stumbled back, falling onto the coffee table with a curse.

Felix had always hated the thing; clunky and dark brown, called it an eyesore. With great satisfaction, Felix vaulted over the couch and slammed into his business partner, the table cracking and collapsing under the impact.

-xx-

There was half a plate sticking out of the wall, the scissors lodged into the back of a dinning chair, food splattered all over the walls and floors. Beer, wine and a collection of hard liquors slewed about on the floor and walls. The two men covered in bruises and cuts, laying in the only clean spot of floor in the front room.

Felix chuckled, wheezing in-between inhales as the humor of the last hour and a half dawned on him. “We haven’t fought like that since I was six, you got a new bike for your seventh birthday, I ended up taking it and totalling it by driving off... a mountain? Could’ve been a tall hill, but _shit_ you kicked my ass with my crutches when I saw you next.” The laughter Locus unleashed was coupled with a horrid sounding wheeze. It didn’t sway him though, with effort he released that joy into the air and Felix relished in it. Eyes softening around the corners as he took in the pained smile on his lips. “He’s good for you,” he blurts out.

The man’s head turned towards him, “hm?” A brow arched up in question, emerald green eyes inquisitive as he took in the man’s bruised face.

“Wash. He’s good for you, makes you smile more—laugh like _that_ again. You’re happy and its _weird_ , but it’s a good weird.” He gestures to the laughter he just witnessed. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since we were young. It’s nice—a good look on you.” He holds his closed fist up towards Locus, smiling— _truly_ smiling—when Locus knocks his fist against Felix’s.

Locus’ eyes fall closed, “same for you. That... the whole... Washington being good for you. You’re... kinder.” His gaze is soft when they open again. “Willing to express a larger range of emotions, though you lash out again to cover this.”

Of course Locus noticed, Locus noticed everything he didn’t want him to so _of course_ he’d pick out his conflicting emotions that for snap like an elastic into place if anyone so much as noticed his sweetness. “I’m... yeah, I’m working on that.” They fell into a silence, eyes heavy as the day’s activities leeched their strength. Breathes evening out until sleep lulled them in, claiming them.

-xxx-

It was a warzone—chaos, pure and utter chaos and Washington couldn’t bring himself to take off his shoes as he stepped further into the apartment. He should’ve let Dante come up with him but it was too late to call him back now. He took in the glass scattered along the floor, the knives and scissors and the assortment of other blade-like weapons sticking out of things.

He feared the worse as he continued on, slowly placing one foot in front of the other. He was already steeling himself, forcing his breath to remain steady—in and out, in and out. The sun was still up; there was still the natural light on his side as he took in the stains on the walls and floors. It couldn’t be blood; those chunks in the dark red mixture couldn’t be brain matter—no. No, nonono.

It didn’t look like it, _it didn’t look like it_ , he kept telling himself as he brought shaky fingers to the substance. It felt like beef, like hamburger meat and... and no, he sniffed his fingers. No it wasn’t blood or brain or human flesh of any kind. That was his spaghetti sauce he pulled out this morning to make for dinner.

He turned away from the wall with a heavy sigh, his stomach rolling. He felt like he was going to be _sick_ ; just because _that_ wasn’t blood, it didn’t mean that the rest wasn’t.

The light above the dining table broken, the wires visible and he hissed at the mess he found in the rest of the room. Two of the dining chairs were broken, a leg of one of the chairs sticking out of the wall, lamps broken—the wall mounted _television_ had a lamp sticking out of it. He couldn’t look towards the kitchen, not when the forms of his two lovers stole his attention.

The floor around them barren of glass, of wood or blood and Washington _sobbed_. Crossing the distance between they and he, falling to the floor between them and finding their pulse point. He had to be sure— _he had to make sure_! He wasn’t about to lose another love... not when he was falling in love with them. He wouldn’t lose them, not like how he did with Maine.

He couldn’t fight it; the tears that fell, the sobs that broke pass his lips and the shakes that rattled his bones. Their hearts thumping away in their chests, pumping blood throughout their bruised and battered bodies. “Wash?” he wrapped his arms around himself, hand covering his lips just as another sob broke through. His body jolting under the force behind that one; eyes bleary with tears that dripped and fell and ran all over his face and hands, falling from his eyes and onto the floor and his clothes.

He felt fingers carting through his hair, fingers pulling away his hand and weaving their fingers with his. Lips pressed to his cheek, to his forehead, to his nose and lips. “Babe,” Felix cooed, pressing one kiss after the other on his cheek, chasing each new tear that’ll appear. “Shhhh, breathe, just breathe.”

He shook in Locus’ hold, the man quickly slipping into position behind him. Wrapping his arms around his torso and kissing his ear. “Washington,” his voice caught, scratchy and rough in his throat as he spoke the blond’s name. “It’s fine. Felix and I are fine; there shouldn’t be any tension between us.”

Wash just shook his head, “ _look_ at this place! It—it looks like you _killed_ each other!” The pair turn their attentions away from Washington for a moment, taking in the mess that surrounds them. The broken furniture, the knives and furniture sticking out of walls, food and whatever else staining those walls.

Felix cupped the man’s face, pressing another kiss to his nose. “Lo and I are fine, babe, see?” He had to prod him, urge him to look at them— _really_ look at them. “ _Shhhhh_ , it’s okay. It’s okay. We’re okay; we’re not going to kill each other.” They’d spare each other fleeting glances, taking in the other’s conditions—they look like shit. Really, _really_ looked like shit.

Locus wiped at his lover’s face, drying the tears that dawdled behind. His inhales stuttering, shakes subsiding as Locus continued to hold him tightly in his arms. Listening to Felix whisper the same things, over and over again—it did the trick, it calmed him down. It dried his eyes and levelled out his breath. “We should clean up,” he didn’t just mean the room. Their bodies needed tending to; he still had blood on his face and he could _feel_ the bruise forming on his back. “I need to look at my back.”

Wash nods slowly, letting the men help him to his feet. Their fingers weaving with his, neither bearing to part from him—not after they just calmed him down. They led him to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, the blond having to assist them remove their clothes. Locus hissed when his blond lover pressed his hesitant fingers to his back; the bruises dark on his skin, the skin torn in other place. He sighed, waving over Felix, gauging his injuries with probing fingers.

“Neither of you will need stitches, but those bruises are bad.” He slipped between them to the bath, turning on the water and insuring that it was clean enough for them to relax in while he goes about cleaning their face. He stares back at them, nodding to the slowly filling tub. “In. I’ll clean your faces. The hot water will help with your muscles.”

They slip the remaining articles of clothing from their person, kicking it away before stepping into the tub. Locus settle back first allowing the other man to use his chest as a rest. The blond putters around; pulling a new bar of soap and a new cloth from the closet, finally kicking off his shoes. “Washington,” Locus called out to him, “come here.” His voice but a whisper, as he beckoned the man forward—closer and closer still until he stood close enough for Locus to grab the man’s shirt and tug him in for a soft caress of a kiss.

Felix turned the water off, settling back and accepting the kiss that Washington placed to the crown of his head. “It’ll sting,” he warns, soaping up the cloth until it foamed. He cared for Locus’ cheek first. One of Felix’s rings had cut open a large but shallow wound. The man hissed, flinching away from cloth. “I need to make sure it’s clean,” he scolded, pressing the cloth flat against his face.

Felix snickered, “stop fighting you fucking pansy,” he watched as the scene played out. Eyelids half-mast and lips twitching up into a smile when Locus glared, “don’t be a baby you’ve had worse.” The man pouted.

-xxxx-

He paced the path from kitchen to living room with that damn phone clutched and cradled against his ear. He had tucked both Felix and Locus into bed; their eyes fighting (the losing fight) to remain open as they lounged in the bathwater after Wash had cleaned their wounds. It was with much prompting that Wash was able to even _get_ them into bed, all cuddled together as he combed his finger through their hair.

He slipped away from the well paced path, the other end of the phone connecting as the man answered. “Wash? Babe. You alright?” He bit his knuckles as he slipped into the main bathroom, taking a seat on the toilet. “Hon?”

He sucked in a breath, “I... can you come over to the apartment? The door’s unlocked I just... please come.” He could feel the shakes starting anew now that Locus and Felix were safely tucked in bed, the apartment showing the aftermath of their wrath.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just... I lo—... don’t do anything, I’ll be right there. Sit tight.” He couldn’t. He couldn’t just sit in the bathroom the whole time—couldn’t be left alone in his head, thoughts just swirling, working into a spiral of _what if_ possibilities and an endless supply of fear.

Washing his face with shockingly cold water did nothing to snap him out of it; he had to _do_ something. So he did the only thing he could. He left the bathroom and checked the lights, making sure the lights and damaged electronics were disconnected or the switches couldn’t be flipped just as an added precaution. He didn’t need a fire on top of everything else. Not tonight.

Once that task was completed he returned to the kitchen to flip on the lights there.

A cold settled in his gut as he took in the mess, the once white floor splattered with food and drinks, with Washington’s _pills_. Panic seized in his chest, forcing him to pull his phone out once more. Thumbing through his contacts to his doctor’s office he selected the contact and held the ringing phone to his ear. They should still be open— _please_ let them be open. “Hello Dr. Emerald’s office, this is Annabel speaking.”

He swallowed down the sigh of relief. “Hello Annabel, this is Daniel Washington. I’m wondering if there’s any way I can see Dr. Emerald either tonight or tomorrow morning. It’s an emergency.” He smoothed the creases developing on his forehead.

Annabel sucks in a breath; Wash was fond of her, she was always very nice to talk to when he went in. “The doctor is seeing her last patient of the day now but,” her voice dipped low, “is this about your medication? I can ask her to fax over something to the pharmacy.”

 _That_ makes Washington sob, “thank you. Oh my god—I, yes. Please. Thank you. Just... There’s been,” his words caught in his throat and he sobbed. “Just... all of them are gone and I need them for tomorrow and... I—”

Her voice soothing as she shushed him, “ _sshhh_. Its okay, it’s okay. I’ll go talk to the doctor right now. I’ll make sure we have get you the stuff you need. I’m just going to have to put you on hold for a moment, please stay right there.” The front door slammed open followed by the loud curse as the man took in the room, the _whole apartment_ , around him.

Wash could hear the footsteps running towards the kitchen as he tapped his fingers against the counter counting under his breath to keep himself _calm_ , to keep himself _there_. “Wash,” Dante sighed and he glanced away from the grain of rice he was fiddling with when the tapping was just screwing up his counting. The man wrapped him into a tight embrace, showering his face with kick passionate pecks. “You had me worried, _fuck_ you had me worried.”

Annabel picked up, “the pharmacy that you normally go to wasn’t open and the other’s were closing up for the day. I’m so sorry Daniel, but I can get you in as the first appointment. The doctor will be here at 7AM tomorrow, I’ll make sure the doors are open for you to come in. Is there... is there anyone to look after you, make sure you get to your appointment?”

Wash licked his lips, “yeah... one of my boyfriends just stopped in.” He nodded, looking up at Dante when Annabel asked to speak to him. “Yeah, here.”

D took the phone, holding it to his ear in confusion. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Annabel from Dr. Emerald’s office. Will you be with Mr. Washington to insure that he makes it to his 7AM appointment tomorrow?” His brow creased, mouthing ‘ _what?_ ’ to the man. Wash pointed to the mess around them, to the pill bottles and pills spilled out all over the floor.

“Shit—yeah, yeah I’ll make sure he gets there. I just... can have the address?” He looks around in vain for a pen and paper, but found nothing in the mess. He fished out his phone and opened the notes instead. “Alright, shoot.” Fingers tapping away the information and relaying it back to the woman to insure that he typed in the right info. “Thank you. Yes, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

He set the phone on the counter without a work, wrapping the man back into his embrace and tucking Wash’s head under his. “Where are they now?” he inquired kissing the mass of blond fluffy hair.

“They’re in bed. I got them cleaned up and tucked them in when they couldn’t keep their eyes open.” He sucked in a breath, “they looked _dead_ , D. Just laying in the middle of the floor, glass and knives fucking _everywhere_.” He’ll curse himself out later; will grow embarrassed about it when he isn’t busy _freaky out_ about it still. Maybe when the mess was cleaned and the walls were re-painted because those stains won’t leave easily. “Can we... can we clean up?”

Dante pulls away, smoothing Wash’s hair away from his face to take in his expression. Brown eyes flicked back and forth, narrowing as he focused, “yeah. Yeah okay. Then bed.”

Neither expected it to take as long as it did. Cleaning the kitchen, the living room and dining room, the entryway even met their critical gaze. Removing blades and furniture pieces from walls and furniture, carting the broken pieces of furniture to the empty space right beside the door. Sweeping up glass, scrubbing the walls and floors before taking the mop to it and getting the rest.

They were exhausted by the time the floor returned to it spotless pride; garbage already thrown down the chute at the end of the hall, everything else could be saved for the two sleeping men.

They were exhausted by the time they stepped into the shower and sat on the floor, the steady stream splattering overhead. “Feel better?” Washington shook his head in the negative; he had been deathly silent the whole time, retreating into his head as he cleaned. Dante had to gather the blades after how _scared_ the blond looked handling them—how deep they were lodged into the wall. Dante pulled him in, leaning back out of the spray when the man straddled his waist and clung to his shoulders.

He didn’t say anything, body shaking and breath catching. “I can’t lose you too—I can’t lose another person I care about,” Dante can’t be sure who Wash is whispering about; is it about Felix or Locus or himself, if it was all of them. He’s breath caught in his throat, hiccupping harshly as he continues on. “I can’t lose another person I love, I just can’t.”

Dante’s eyes widen at the word, at the _feeling_ behind it—he doesn’t believe it’s something he should’ve heard right then. Said in a daze, in a panic. Though it warms his heart all the while—he knows he _meant it_ , it was real. All of this was too fucking real.

“I’m here baby,” he curled his arms tighter around the man, “I’m here.” They could’ve been under that spray for minutes; it could’ve turned to hours. Time was subjective. It was nothing but Washington in his arms, the water, and the man’s lips whispering wordlessly against his neck. He could’ve whisper it back, he could’ve finally admitted the words that he’s nearly thrown out there twice before.

He could. He didn’t.

Instead Dante shifted under the spray and rinsed the hours of work from their bodies. Instead he led the man out of the shower and toweled him off. Instead he and Wash dressed in fresh boxers and Washington threw a shirt overhead. Setting an alarm and crawling into bed, Wash brushed both of his injured lovers’ hair from their face, pecking their foreheads before settling back down into bed. Poor Tigra wobbled on her green cast, mewing for Dante to set her on the bed. The cats had been hiding for the day; Wash hasn’t seen them since he left.

Dante curled in behind him, lips pressed to his neck. “Looks like they’ve been hiding in here the whole time,” Wash nodded, thinking along the same lines. Mittens lay spread out over Locus’ stomach—for once the man wasn’t sleeping on his side or stomach, not with his arm wrapped around Felix’s shoulder and the man curled half onto his chest.

Ebony snuggled up beside Tigra in Washington’s arms, the black cat purring when his blond haired human scratched up the back of his head and behind his ears. Washington smiled, turning his head to accept a goodnight kiss.

“Good night Wash,” he whispered, placing one final kiss to the man’s neck before settling in again. The sound of cat purrs, Washington’s level breathing and Felix’s quiet snores lulling him into a sleep.

-X-

The alarm went off at 5:50AM, he was _dying_. Snatching the phone from the table the man thumbed the alarm off before flopping back into bed with a groan. Curling back into the warmth he fell back to sleep.

The alarm went off at 6AM. Dante’s eyes snapped open— _oh shit!_ He threw the covers off his body, grabbing the phone and turning the alarm off before it could wake Wash, rolling out of bed and flicked on the lamp on the side table without a care of his other partners. Two of the three men in the bed groaned, slowly coming to. As he pulled on a pair of pants, grabbing another for Washington, he heard Felix curse. “The fuck? It’s _six_! Go the fuck back to sleep.”

He ignored him in favour of buckling up his pants, returning to bed the calmly went about slipping Wash’s pants on without waking him. “While the two of you were making a mess out of the apartment you threw Wash’s medication, so the two of us are going to go get him some more.” He grabbed a pair of sweat pants for the man to wear assuming that they’d be easier to dress him in—it was not looking to be the case as he fought with man’s boxers. He sucked in a breath and un-bunched the material, the pants eventually slipped into place and the man couldn’t be happier when Wash didn’t stir.

His head snapped up when Locus spoke, sitting at the edge of the bed while rubbing his face. “What time is the appointment?”

He slips the socks on the man’s feet, then dressing himself in a shirt before slipping back into bed. “Seven,” he answers Locus, sweeping the man’s hair back. “Wash,” he whispers and presses a long careful kiss to the man’s lips. He could hear the sharp intake of breath as he wakes.

He’s met with blue-gray eyes staring up at him when he’s ultimately forced to pull away—there’s things to do this morning, people to see and medication to get. “Morning sleepy,” Dante keeps his face and voice soft, ignoring the pangs of pain in his chest when the blond looks at him with a confused recognition in his gaze. He _knows_ him but he _doesn’t_ at the same time. Even when he Ebony head butts the man’s lips, looking for his kisses, his expression shifting to pleased though his gaze drops to the name tag the cat was wearing to read his name.

He’s a more reserved version of the man he kissed goodnight. Helping him sit up, Dante dresses him in a sweater. Cupping his lover’s face and kissing the man’s forehead, Dante remains painstakingly calm about it even when the man leans and curls into the affectionate contact with a pleased hum. Dante's painstakingly patient with him; he moves slowly with him. Takes him by the hand and pulls the hood over his head. "The apartment is a mess right now and it might make some unpleasant memories return," he explains and Wash just nods, leaning into the kiss the man places on his cheek one last time.

Locus and Felix follow after the pair, confusion and worry marking their expressions. They stop to take in the remnants of the apartment around them, the holes in the walls and the stains on the floor and walls (there was something even on the ceiling). “Shit,” Felix hissed, rushing forwards to catch back up to the pair at the door.

Dante had to leave Washington for a moment—to grab his old medication containers to insure that he gets the right prescriptions. Felix was left to witness Washington stare down at the collection of shoes as he attempted to figure out which was his. He took pity on the man, plucking one of his own Vans from the messy pile and setting them by the man’s feet. “So you don’t have to tie them,” he explains, steeling his own feelings when Washington’s numb gaze sweeps over him.

The corner of Wash’s lips twitch, slipping his socked covered feet into Felix’s shoes.

It’s moments after that that Dante returns, patting Felix’s ass as he passed and led the blond from the apartment with a hand firmly situated on the small of the man’s back. Felix and Locus throw each other a look when the door clicks shut behind them.

-Xx-

“It could be a dissociative episode brought on the stress that you mentioned. Mr. Washington has mentioned that a... _stressful_ _situation_ was the reason for his dissociative identity disorder—it’s what you may also know as multiple personalities.” Dr Emerald nods to Wash as he glances between the woman and Dante with a distant look to his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m aware of that.” The man sighed, running his fingers through Wash’s hair. “Any suggestions as to what to do?”

She shrugs, pursing her lips. “Make sure he takes his medication. Treat it like one of his ‘bad days’. He’ll more than likely crash, he seems lethargic. So ultimately just rest.” She handed him the slip of paper with the five different meds that he needed as well as directions to the pharmacy that could fill it this early.

“Thank you,” Dante states for the both of them.

The doctor nods, “just make sure he gets home and remind him of his appointment in two weeks. I’ll check up on him then, but if he grows worse. If he becomes a danger to himself or those around him please contact someone: myself, this office, emergency services.” He could only nod, promising her that he would if the case were to ever arrive.

For there it was simple; medication then back to the apartment. Washington and he grabbed a bagel to split while he made sure Washington swallowed down all his medication. Even returning to the apartment was _simple_. Locus and Felix were awake and active, fixing the remaining mess that neither Dante nor Washington could see to the night before.

Dante leads the man back to bed, shoes and socks left on the floor, slipping the hoodie from his shoulders and tugging the pants from his hips. “Get to bed, I’m right behind you.” He slips off his own pants and kicks them towards the pile forming on the floor.

He’s already out of it when Dante slips in behind the blond.


	23. I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a bonus. Finally they say it. Finally it looks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its shorter than normal but i think it makes up for it really. I'm actually really really excited about this chapter so I really hope you are too!! :D

_“Fall.” The blond just_ looks _at him. Not believing that the man just suggested it—that of all things. “Go,” he nods to the fog before them. Behind them is a well lit city, a nightlife just swinging into motion. “Go,” the man stresses again in that one word answer._

_“But...” Washington stalls, mouth agape as he studied the man he once knew. “But you...” he trails off again when the lights flicker around his head._

_The man leans over, leans down and into his face to press a kiss to his lips. “Wake up David, you’re mine no more.”_

-xx-

He wakes with a gasp, with a jolt as he takes in the room around him before settling back into Locus’ familiar bed. The sun peeking between the curtains, Wash assumes he slept in—later than _Felix_. He must have been tired. Maybe a job the day before? Did he get hit by another car?

He felt like he got hit by car. His body ached, joints cracking and popping as he pulled himself out of bed. Scritching Tigra behind the ears and scooping her up into his arms as he padded out of the room. The orange fluffy cat purred loudly as he walked from room to room, the scenery around him not fully dawning upon him until he stopped in the entrance of the kitchen.

His thoughts froze, the gears in his head grinding. Stalling as he processed the cabinet door leaning against the stove, the green numbers reading 6:38PM. He blinked, mouth opening a fraction of an inch before snapping shut with a click of teeth. Behind him Wash heard the soft _pat-pat_ of bare feet against the floor before a hand pressed to his back. “Washington,” _Locus_. The man turned, hugging the cat in his arms. “How was your nap?”

He doesn’t remember going for a nap. Doesn’t remember getting those new blue pill cases or waking up to go to his Doctor’s. “Did I go to my appointment?” fingers curling in Tigra’s long orange fur as he hugged her tighter.

“Dante took you.”

Wash couldn’t remember that—didn’t remember much of anything really from last night other than _fear_. He glanced around the living room, around Locus towards the couch where both Dante and Felix watched their interaction. “And... and I took my medication?”

“Yes,” the man answered calmly knuckles caressing his cheek. Fingers pinching Wash’s chin, he pulled him in for a quick peck. “Yes, I’m sure,” he answered before the man could force the words from his mouth. “Come sit with us, Felix paid for Chinese.” He pressed another kiss to the blond’s lips, lingering when Wash exhaled through his nose and seemed to melt beneath his lips.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” He licked his tingling lips, leaning into the man’s side when he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him towards the other two. He led him ‘round the couch, depositing the man in the space between Dante and Felix before Locus fell to the couch beside the smallest man. Dante took Tigra from his arms and set her onto the open space on the couch beside him.

They had pillaged an end table from one of the corners that once held a lamp to host the laptop on. Chinese food cartons spread out on the floor. Wash went hunting through them; plucking the container of noodles and then settling back to steal the chicken left in Felix’s container. On the laptop the frozen picture of Jigsaw sat and for the life of Wash he couldn’t remember which version that still was from.

“Hey!” Felix exclaimed leaning after the chopsticks that stole his food. The blond distracted him with a peck; forcing their lips together to stall the man. Wash then quickly stuffed it into his gob, cheeks puffing out and grinned. His normally well maintained look—brows, skin, hair and jewelry—now but a collage of bruising.

He flopped back to lean against Dante, tucking his toes under Felix’s legs before digging into his own container of noodles. The man behind him brushed his hair back away from his forehead, kissing the back of Wash’s neck, “you’re looking better.”

And Wash threw a confused look over his shoulder, “was I that bad?”

D worried his lip between his teeth, sighing. “The doc said the stress triggered a state of dissociation,” Wash hummed, understanding exactly what that meant though the _severity_ of his ‘episode’ was still yet up for debate. The man continued to pet his hair, “what do you remember?” Washington frowned, brows creasing as he thought. “Do you remember what you...” he paused, sucking in a breath as if deciding if he should dive into the question or not. “Do you remember what you said in the shower?”

It took a moment; cleaning, so much _fucking cleaning_ , then... oh. His eyes widened, cheeks colouring—the blush quickly spreading to his ears, down his neck. Mouth opening, closing. He stared at the man looking back, staring at him with such a soft expression— _shit_. Shit, he knew he meant it.

“What did he say?” Felix glared at the dark haired man and when he didn’t answer he got _Washington’s_ attention. “What did you say?” there was the inkling of _fear_ in that tone as he cupped the blond’s freckled cheek and turned the man to face him. “What did you say?”

His own fear licked at the walls of his stomach, rolled in his gut and threatened to grip his heart—steal his breath. He wouldn’t fall prey; no he’ll say it. It may be one of the only times he’ll get to say it—mean it, be _lucid_ enough to appreciate the meaning behind it and be fit to see the aftermath if it goes ill.

 _Just say it_ —like ripping off a Band-Aid.  And it was, after the last time he meant it. Back with Maine, back during Freelancer and everything was simpler. It didn’t _matter_ though, he meant it then and he meant it now—he’ll mean it again if they make him say it tomorrow and the next day as well. He meant it back with Maine... _you’re mine no more._

He wasn’t with Maine; he hasn’t been with or seen then man in years.

It’s been months—it had to be well over four months now (or was it five) since Washington first got stuffed into that damn car. It’s been many, _many_ months now since the beginning of this messy relationship formed. Months leading to this very moment.

“That I love you. The three of you—that I love the three of you.”

The silence that greets him drags on; it drags out to the point that the nervous flutter of butterfly wings turn to them biting and eating at his stomach lining. He could feel Dante staring at the side of his face as Wash glances between the two shocked, stone still faces of the men in front of him. Locus’ jaw slack, his mouth finally clicking shut to swallow the saliva gathering in his mouth. Felix’s jaw clenched, unclenched—he could see it in the definition of his cheeks.

The silence drags on and he learns to fear the rejection looming in the horizon. The voice in the back of his head screaming for him to leave, to pack up his things now before they kick him out. He breaks eye contact with them, starring down at the cardboard box in his hand and slipped his toes from beneath Felix’s leg.

The only warning Washington gets before he’s _tackled_ —pinned beneath a still stunned Felix and an overzealous Locus is the hand that cups his cheek. He’s splayed over Dante’s lap, his noodles squished between Locus and he as the man slipped his tongue between Washington’s lips and past his teeth. The man moans into his mouth and Wash drinks it in, kissing his back with all the passion he could muster with his hands still hopeless gripping the remains of his meal.

He devoured him, smothered Washington with as much affection as he could muster. _He loves him_. His brain echoed with the confession, his heart pounded. He nipped at the man’s lip, quickly jumping to his forehead and showering his face with playful nips to his bow and pleased feather light kisses in every inch of freckled skin he could reach. _Washington loves him_.

Dipping down to his jaw, kissing at his ear, Locus whispered it back. “I love you.” He meant it. He knew that he’d fall for this man the moment he met him—fuck, didn’t he tell himself not to? He told himself that that man who allured him so would get him to fall as hard as he did. “I love you,” he repeated it, liking how it made him shiver when his lips brushed Washington’s ear, he liked how it felt rolling off his tongue.

He pulled back willingly when Felix went to claim his lips, giving the man the room he needed to slide his lips against the man’s. His was less _needy_ —less claiming, less consuming. He pressed, lingered; only accepting the urge to depend the kiss when Wash prompted for more. His fingers still clutching that carton of noodles against his chest and Locus quickly removed it. Setting it to the floor with the rest of their food; Locus hummed when the blond’s now freed hand slid behind his neck and pressed him in, holding him as close as he could with Felix sharing the same space.

“You make me do crazy shit, I’ll give you that.” Felix’s cheeks tint as he pulls away, ignoring both Washington’s and Locus’ all-knowing gaze. He’s not fooling anyone and he knows that, but it didn’t mean he was in anyway shape or form ready for that level of honesty with _himself_.

His eyes fell shut with a sigh, relaxing in the embrace of bodies. “D?” his eyes fluttered open again, smiling up at the man who ran his fingers through Wash’s hair. “You okay?”

The man smirked, “yes love, I’m just fine.” He ignored as Felix fought his way from beneath Locus, switching the movie on the laptop to something... well, it would be surprising if Washington didn’t share with them Felix’s hidden love for rom-coms. “Going to hook that to the TV in the bedroom?” and he was rewarded with an answering grunt in return.

They moved, gathering the needed necessities before swapping rooms—Wash still needed to eat and he made the looks he was throwing the food obvious.

Dante took the man’s hand, tugging him back into his chest—kissing his lips with a sigh. “You didn’t have to say it if you didn’t want to,” he pecked his lips again and then once more because he could.

“Didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do,” the blond replied, “though I should be saying that to you now.” His smile teasing when he went to nip at his lips. He _knew_. He knew that he stumbled over that word multiple times.

“You know.”

His smile widened, “of course I do. No one would _willingly_ put up with me in a zombie-like state unless they cared—or floor it here because I asked them to.” He shrugged, taking a step back. He threw a wink back and he had to—he had to.

Catching his hand, Dante tugged him back towards himself. Cupping the man’s face in two large hands. “I love you.” He chuckled to himself, “I love you.” He felt giddy— _alive_. A little breathless, though at the same time it felt like for the first time he’s finally taken a breath.

“I know,” Washington smiled; all eyes closed and pulled wide lips.

 


	24. Romantic Getaway For Four, Please.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash's past is back and we learn that trust does not come with the category of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Panic attacks, vomiting, fighting, lack of proper communication (these boys are being dumb again), crying.
> 
> A new mix is up now: http://8tracks.com/shadowsheyla/gta-au-tuna-sandwich-mix-2
> 
> I wanted to post this before class. I had to move this past weekend so I wasn't really able to comb through some of the omitted works. But I'll be editing it when I get home in about 2-3hrs

“Knock knock,” he smiled around his wine glass, staring at the unimpressed expression of his husband in the video feed. “Oh come now love, you love my jokes.”

The man’s black eyebrows rose, _“it doesn’t mean that I still don’t, pet, it’s just I’d rather have dinner with you sitting next to me than through a computer monitor. Do I need to have a discussion with Carolina?”_

“Now now love, no need to get testy.” The mustachioed man set his wine glass to the crummy stained table he was using for his Skype date. “The Meta has just made an appearance chasing after the Epsilon unit,” he stabbed one of the cut up pieces of chicken he had cut up earlier. Dipping it into the gravy he had spread about his take away container.

 _“That was little David’s,”_ the man paused; it took a moment for the weight of the news to finally settle. _“You found David?”_

Wyoming nodded, “originally Carolina’s plan was to take the Epsilon Unit from him and destroy the AI before The Meta could reach it but new... information arose and we will be attempting to convince the youngest Church to play with the Freelancers once more.” He hums around the chicken, savouring the taste—not bad, not bad.

Wyoming fears that the feed dropped when the man on the other end froze, staring at what he could only assume was himself (Wyoming) on his darling’s screen. _“York found the information about the Director.”_

Of course Florida knew about the Director. Just because the man had left Freelancer and joined another gang to ‘whip them into shape’ it didn’t mean that he lost any of his former connections that he obtained during his time in there. “Yes, it seems that our former employer has a rather nice padded cell up in Sunnyside Mental Institution for the Criminally Insane.”

The man on the end of the video call sighed, _“This is Carolina’s idea, isn’t it?”_ Wyoming’s silence made the man hiss. _“If you make that child go play around in there just so Carolina can rescue good ol’ Dad of the year—_ ” he cut himself off before he could _really_ start losing his temper. _“Reggie, if I hear you had a part to play in this I will begin sharpening my knives and you won’t enjoy the consequences. Do you understand?”_

He sucked in a wince, “of course sweetheart. I’ll start packing as soon as it’s confirmed that we’re no longer worried about the Epsilon unit.”

-xx-

He wasn’t expecting the phone call that pulled him from the cuddle sandwich between Felix and Locus on Dante’s pull out bed out in his trailer. They had spent most of the day out in the heat, the reminder that even if the summer season was finally reaching its end Wash would most likely never see snow unless he returned northwards. It wasn’t late by their standards but Tigra wasn’t in need of constant attention any longer so they slipped out for a day of fixing up cars and shooting and throwing knives—it wasn’t eventful in the slightest, but it was better than being in the apartment.

Locus seldom left his side since Washington told them he loved them days previously, the man’s lips stealing kisses when he could—he acted like the hopeless sap. He couldn’t hide it, not when Felix chirped him hard about the goofy look he still had on his face. So it paid him no surprise to have the man pressed up against his back, crotch nestled against his ass.

Felix had been having a rough sleep cycle for the last few nights, body tingling with energy—he wanted to go out and do a job, go make money. To do something that wasn’t playing house and sex wasn’t cutting it anymore. The gun and blade in his hand today helped, his breathing leveled against Wash’s throat. Lips ghosting over his Adam’s apple every time he’d mouth something to himself in his sleep.

He slipped the phone from his back pocket when it began to chime and vibrate, Locus’ hips jolting forwards to press against the sensation before drawing back. Washington accepted the call without looking at the information—no use dragging the sound out. “Hello?”

“Hola pequeña Iglesia,” the voice on the other end so familiar—where has he heard this voice before? “Me llamo Carlos,” the man continues and finally it clicks.

“Ha sido un tiempo,” his pronunciation is horrid. He hasn’t spent enough time practicing—not nearly enough time practicing. Locus’ body spurring into action, stretching out on his back to give the man an out if need be.

Carlos laughed, “You haven’t been practicing old friend. Though I can’t blame you, life has been tough for you Freelancers these last few years.” Washington slipped out from Felix’s sleepy hold, throwing a leg over Locus’ waist to make a move to climb out of the fold out bed only for the man to wrap his arms around him and pin him to his chest. “Though, speaking of Freelancer—the city is finally tearing down the old place. I... _strongly recommend_ that you stop in before the city does. A couple of my boys saw someone poking around.”

They spoke in stressors, always about those words. They don’t bring out the hidden double meanings unless they feared someone were either overhearing them or spying. It didn’t happen as often as movies and cop dramas liked you to believe.

“I’ll see about checking in on the old place then. And if I do I’ll stop in, catch up on old times.”

-xxx-

North laughed into the phone that York had handed him nearly ten minutes ago after both he and Carolina had their turn. He listened to the ramblings on the other end as the person retold the epic tale about their day. “Sounds like you’ve been putting Grammy through the ringer, monkey.”

Note to self: call Mother later and thank her profusely.

The sounds of pots and pans clanging together made North long to be home again. Made him long for _his own_ home, the one he shared with York and Carolina and his daughter. Eating homemade food and curling up in the bed he shared with the two adults, and at times the little girl that would _bop-bop-bop_ before creeping up between her two fathers.

 _Papa and Daddy are bigger, Mama! The monsters will be full and then you can beat them all up!_ The kid had the imagination of North’s former AI unit and Wash combined. It was cute though when she’d carry around Vali (her stuffed lion) and claim that her Daddy was trying to teach her to talk.

“Papa... when are you and Mama and Daddy coming home?”

He sucked in a breath. “Mama said that she’s going to try to talk to Uncle David so—”

The excited screaming made the man cringe. “Mama is gonna talk to Uncle David!? Really?!”

“Yes baby, that’s the plan.” _But I have a feeling it’s going to work._ He kept his thoughts away from that, he wouldn’t allow his own fears influence her feelings—or _dampen_ her spirits. All she’s wanted to do was meet her ‘Uncle David’, constantly asking about where he was and what he looked like— _is he nice?_ And _does he love me too?_

He won’t take that away from her.

-xxxx-

He worried about letting them back into his apartment even he bought as much cat things as he could when he returned with them, the thought of _leaving them_ here for such a long time while he chased after this lead made him feel... it made him feel like he was abandoning them. Spread out on the floor while Ebony poked around Washington’s apartment as Mittens and Tigra busied themselves with familiarizing themselves with their favourite spots again, Wash’s eyes slid shut and he pondered over his thoughts.

It’s been a long time since he’s been there. Been so long in fact that the last memory he has of the place is while he’s pulling himself out of the burning building while bleeding profusely from a through-n-through in his abdomen and two other wounds sustained to his chest. The time after that moment, that memory, was... distorted. He wasn’t a in the sanest of mind frames, the Epsilon unit had recently tore his brain apart.

To think, a month after Epsilon Washington would be burning Freelancer to the ground with as much of his former brethren in there with him. But he didn’t die, and if what South said was true then... well, no one else died either. Just a bunch of in fighting.

Wash sighed loudly, running his hand through his hair. “What the hell am I doing?” he asked himself, head thumping back against the floor in emphasis. First he goes and joins into the life he was running away from, now he falls in love again, now... now he’s going to take his boyfriends on a surprise road trip so he can check out the old Freelancer base.

“This is all so messed up,” he sighed again, pushing himself up to his feet. Making his way to his door and slipping his shoes back on, Wash bid the cats a quick farewell. He’ll be back shortly; had to ask Jill for a favour and pick up more cat things.

He went up stairs first, smiling at his neighbours as he went—stopping to talk to old Mr. Jenkins who was just returning with his wife’s tiny toy poodle tucked under his arm, smiling and shying away when the thirty-something year old Margret batted her eyelashes at him asking him if he’d like to come in for a bit (he quickly denied the offer), holding the door open for a pair fighting with a couch up those stairs. It felt like hours had passed when Jill finally opened her door, hair a mess and baggy sleepwear hanging off her form.

“Washington,” she opened the door further, inviting him in. Her partner, Travis, poked his head out of the kitchen and smiled when he noticed the blond man walking into the apartment.

Wash threw him a small wave before turning to the woman, “I’m sorry to just... spring this on you last minute, but would you be able to check up on my cats for a few days? I’m going up north for some last minute family thing and I’m,” his cheeks colour, “I’m kinda taking my boyfriends with me.”

Her brow arched, “oh?”

Washington’s cheeks continued to darken into a darker hue of red. “I have three cats now. Just... yeah, just need to make sure that they have food and water. Tigra is doing fine without her painkillers, but I’ll leave them out on the counter with the in-instructions if you notice that she’s in pain or in a lot of discomfort.” He went on, explaining where all the food would be and whatever else she could possibly need.

“You know I never did agree,” she stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. Washington stalled, eyes widening—“I’m fucking with you! Oh shit! Daniel, Daniel no, I was jesting! I’m sorry. Yes, yes I’ll look after your cats.” She cupped his face when he began panicking, “shhh, shhh. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Travis slinked over with a bottle of water, handing it to the woman who made quick work uncapping it and holding it out to the blond’s lips. “Family’s first time meeting the partners?” Travis inquired, the pained face easily answering their question. “Get it done then fuck off if you can’t bother looking them in the eyes.” He shrugs; his words have a calming force behind it.

Wash didn’t need to go—not _really_. He was going to go anyways; he needed to go for _him_. Say goodbye, go poke around now that there was some time between himself and that mess of memories. He needed it. “Yeah... yeah, thank you.” He took a sip of the bottled water that Jill offered him with a tight lipped smile.

“Just... maybe don’t bring up the fact that they’re in a gang.” The woman patted the blond’s cheek, retracting her hand when the man began to sputter. “I mean... I’m _assuming_ , sure, but like... yeah. Those guys look and have that aura of _‘I a big bad and I run in a crew’_ ,” her voice pitched low as she adopted a swagger. Holding her shoulders out to make them seem square as she puckered her lips, walking in place.

“The-they’re _mercenaries_ ,” Washington hissed. Sure, not in any way better but there was a _difference_ between the two. Washington was _in_ a gang after all; they’ve also _hired_ mercenaries when they needed throw away men.

Travis chuckled, “yeah. I wouldn’t say that either.”

It was safe it say that the couple agreed to look after his cats, Washington handing out both Felix’s and Locus’ cell phone numbers knowing that Wash was bound to lose his own with the mess that his brain might find itself in when he was... well, back home.

-X-

“Just get in the car,” they weren’t even in the car and he already wanted to slam his head against the wheel. He shouldn’t have told them to pack their bags; he shouldn’t have even packed his own. They were asking too many questions: ‘ _where are we going’_ and _‘why now’_ also a _‘where did you put the cats_ ’ was thrown in as well.

“Washington...” Locus set one of the two duffle bags on the sidewalk, crossing his arms over his chest when Wash refused to remove himself from the vehicle.

His thumb tapped against the wheel; _tap, tap tap._ “Just... trust me. Please just get in the car,” he sighed. He didn’t want to pull that card, didn’t want to have to _ask_ them to trust him. He went with them willingly when they whisked him off randomly, he... he was doing the same, no?

He didn’t look at them—fuck he’ll go by himself if he needed to. He’d drive all the way back up to Seattle and see what he needed to see. He’ll check up on his old... _friends_ or at least poke around their business before driving back down to Los Santos. He didn’t _need_ them—he didn’t. He just... he just wanted them there with him.

Felix sighed, “oh for fucks sake. Just pop the fucking trunk, get in.” The man took the bags from both Dante and Locus, throwing them into the trunk that the man had recently opened. Locus slipped around the front of the car, taking control of the passenger seat while Dante slipped in behind Washington. With Felix finally joining them, the driver didn’t wait until they were all buckled in before flooring it.

He ignored the barely there hiss of, “Warn a guy.” Focusing with rapt attention on the road in front of him, Washington shifted gears—once, twice before coaxing into the waning traffic on the fourth gear. “So where are we off to, somewhere far if you moved the cats somewhere.” Felix was perceptive the times that Wash _didn’t_ want him to be, and he had a habit of calling him out on it.

“North,” is all Wash answers with before blasting the stereo. _[King of the World by Porcelain and The Tramps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPeWGXE1U2Q#t=17)_ blasts through his speakers and the blond glances at his connected phone in confusion. He couldn’t remember putting that song on there, though he’s familiar with it. _Huh_.

The car grew quiet under the music, eyes either out windows or downcast and flipping through their phones. The traffic was pushing his already frayed nerves as the clock ticked into an hour, then an hour and a half, before two hours and the traffic was lighter. He was actually driving again! The heart of Los Santos but a distant memory as the highway stretched before him.

He turned down the radio, “we’re going to Seattle.” He met Dante’s widened gaze in his mirror; of course he remembered that Seattle was the heart of Freelancer activity. “I got a call a couple days ago about someone poking around. Figured I should finally go make sure that all the shit on me and my family were gone for good, y’know?” his thumb tapped against the wheel.

He turned the music back up, letting the news settle. They had a long drive after all.

-Xx-

They pulled up to motel; Dante groaning as he all but fell from the car. Limping his way to the front desk to rent and pay for their room as Felix lit a cigarette. It was a long day spent in silence, with nothing but the world around them to keep them busy when their phones died. There was something Washington wasn’t telling them and while Dante clued in on an important piece, something that he mentioned to the others, neither were impressed with the silence.

Just because Freelancer was based in Seattle, it didn’t mean shit—not to Felix. Not to Locus. Freelancer was an organization long gone, nothing but a shell of a name of a former power.  

Dante dangled the key in his hand waving them in after him as he led the four to their room. “Two beds, a bathroom. We’ll be gone by the afternoon,” he explained, twisting the lock and pushing the door open. The group filed in, Felix grabbing both Locus and Dante and shoving them onto the bed.

“You can’t tell me the two of you are tired,” he purred, running a hand through Locus’ hair while leaning down to place a kiss against Dante’s jaw. “How about we work some tension out,” all of it sounded good, normal of Felix to do. Washington rooted through the bag that was tossed to the foot of the bed furthest from the wall; biting back a small smirk threatening to spread out into a grin when he could heard the smacking of lips and the loud messy slide of tongue. “Except for you Wash, no love tonight.”

He meant sex—he had to have meant sex.

Washington’s body stiffened even when both Dante and Locus hissed out the smallest man’s name in a warning. “Oh shut up! You know he’s hiding something too for fucks sake. Just because he’s the fucking favourite, doesn’t mean he gets to just whisk us away to some Freelancer memory road trip! So fuck it, let him know he’s not getting any.”

  _This was a mistake_. His breath caught in his throat, pulling out the first shirt he could grab he turned his back to his lov—...his boyfriends. “I’m taking a shower then going to bed. When I wake up I’m leaving, with or without you so make sure you get some sleep.”

The bathroom clicks shut behind him, numb fingers flicking over the lock. He couldn’t tell you if they ended up having sex while he took his shower, he had slipped into his lonely bed when the room was dark and quiet. His shower long, using up all the hot water in one sitting as he sat on the floor of the bathtub and quietly sobbed into his knees—he regretted this now.

He had thought: _maybe I’ll show them Seattle. Show them the home I used to know_. Now he just wanted to go back to his cats. Back to that apartment of his that he no longer calls home. Back earlier that day when he didn’t get the spur of the moment thought of taking them with him.

Why was it that he couldn’t do something for them but they could do something for him?

Why was it that he wished to go back in the first place?

For the first night since he had told them he loved them... he didn’t tell them that night.

-Xxx-

 _Maybe we just drifted apart. We do that sometimes during the night._ His tired brain tried rationalizing it. Locus always slept at his back—always. Always, always, **always**. Fingers, hand searching blindly behind him for that other body—bed cold, no one. His eyes flew open, propping himself up on his elbow. _Where’s Locus? **Where’s Locus?** _

He was a constant, he’s been a constant for so long—where was Locus?! There was a pressure building in his head, poking at bits and pieces of his brain that began to flair with activity. He pushed himself up into a seated position, looking to the second bed in confusion.

 _Why... oh._ Oh was right; a casual reminder of the night he wanted to forget but _couldn’t_. Not with the three of them cuddled up so snuggly together. Locus slept at Felix’s back, his bare arm wrapped around the middle man’s waist.

_This was how it started with Maine, right? Waking up... no longer there sleeping in your bed. Pacing the apartment, the streets with Sigma tearing paths through his brain._

It wasn’t like Maine, this relationship was different. They were just mad that he didn’t tell them everything. He pushed himself up— _look away. Just look away_. Out of bed and slipping back into the bathroom, Washington flicked the lock back into place as he turned on the light— _stop talking. Stop acting up._

_But you see it too._

It had to be the stress. It had to be the catalyst for this little episode—he was doing much better lately. He was doing _so much better_.

_You are._

Washington turned to face the mirror, staring into the still red rimmed eyes of his—puffy, a little swollen, a lot dry. This was Epsilon. This had to be Epsilon. He sounded similar to Alpha, but he always cut in deeper. Brought up memories with each little thing he’d ignite. He was blunt with his choice of words (with the things he’d get him to remember), cutting into Washington like knife through warm butter.

Maine standing on the beach with Sigma swirling by his head—whispering everything the man needed to know yet withholding so much more. Epsilon would remind him of waking up in a supposed dead person’s head— _they said you died_ , is what he’d whisper. He’d show him these segments of flashbulb memories, one after the other.

He stumbled to the toilet, retching up acid—the remains of the food he eat the day before. He went until he was crying, foam rolling off his tongue and joining the mess that he made in the toilet. He flinched when sound of knocking broke through the moment of calm. “Wash,” Dante’s voice echoed through the door, the lock holding strong when the man turned it.

Another wave of sickness passed through him, Washington muscles straining as he pulled himself back over the bowl to heave up another round of foam-like bile. _Go back to bed_ , Wash sobbed, _go back to bed and leave me alone._

He hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night to purge his stomach in so long.  A month now? It had to be a month. Sure, he had episodes of spacing out, but... but it was a progress. It was _better_ , he was better.

-Xxxx-

It spoke volumes of just how _trained_ they were. The sound of heaving, of purging, woke them from a sex induced sleep. Felix cursed, “I thought he _stopped_ throwing up,” he hissed. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Felix squinted at the green numbers on the room’s digital clock: 3:48AM the clock read. Flopping back into the pillow the man groaned, pawing at Dante as the man left the bed and slipped back into his boxers on the way to the bathroom. “Just leave him be. You can’t keep babying him.”

Locus shoved him from behind, turning his face away from the back of Felix’s neck.

Dante tried the door and when that failed he called out the man’s name, sucking in a breath when the only answer he received was more vomiting. The sounds dimmed back into sobbing, “Washington, open the door.” He knocked lightly against the wood, the sound of the toilet flushing and the shower kicking back on had him grinding his teeth.

He flopped back into the bed Washington was using, rubbing his hands over his face. Another sigh from Felix as he too sat up, adjusting the pillows with the blankets pooling around his naked waist. “He’s been handling himself longer than he’s known us for, D. Give him some space.” He pinched the bridge of his nose; listening to the shower spray hit the tub.

Wash was avoiding coming out. Avoiding _them_. “He’s stalling,” Locus mumbled into the pillow, voicing what they were all thinking.

-Xxxxx-

Dante was still _right there_ when Washington finally opened the door, finally stepping out only to bump into the man’s chest as he wrapped a hand around Wash’s wrist. “Wash,” he whispered, pressing his palm to the man’s forehead. “Are you alright,” it’s been a while since his last nightly worship to the porcelain throne.

"No,” he snapped, slipping out of the man’s loose hold. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” he pressed his palms flat against the man’s naked chest and guided him back towards the bed, “and mad at me.” He pushed forwards, making the taller man forcibly retreat back to the bed. “Stick to your convictions. You didn't want me sleeping with you at the beginning of the night; don't let a panic attack sway your mind now."

“Wash,” Felix’s voice draws his attention away from Dante when he finally got him to sit back on the bed.

“No. Go back to sleep! Just... just _sleep_!” He hissed, dodging Dante’s hand when it reached out to pull him down. To riel him in and tuck him between himself and Felix. “Just...” he trailed off as he began pulling the comforter of his bed off. He slipped out of view, laying out of the floor between the bed and the wall. Cocooning himself like a burrito, Washington bid them a sharp articulated goodnight.

With his back against the wall Washington felt... well, not _better_. He was exhausted. His hands still shook, and his heart felt like it was still going to burst from his chest—but still, _better_ then not having something at his back. He didn’t feel as open, felt like he could slip off into a moment of sleep now that nothing could creep up on his six.

It didn’t help his reaction time with any of the other positions though. Not when a _very naked_ Locus scooped him up in his arm, kicking and wiggling like the worm he wrapped himself up into being. “ _No!_ Just go—”

“Not doing that. The panic attacks are new and it’s not a minor issue,” Locus replied. He deposited the cocooned man on top of the covers between Felix and Dante, frown growing when the blond refused to allow his lovers to untangle him from his blanket. Wash repeating the word ‘no’ over and over again until they gave up and permitted the continued use of it.

As Locus slipped back under the covers, chest pressed against Felix’s back as the smaller man poked at a freckled cheek. He poked and prodded until the man rolled onto his stomach—Wash **never** sleeps on his stomach—and buried his face into the pillow. Felix huffed, collapsing back against Locus’ chest. “I fucking give up!” he exclaimed, throwing a hand up to knock his knuckles against the headboard.

They fell into a tense silence, either side waiting for the other to crack. To buckle. To _give_.

"I never wanted to go back,” he starts. Washington’s voice barely muffled by the pillow as he sucked in breath after breath through his mouth; it was nasally, the pillow still trapping his nose. “Even with... with _this_. This stupid cryptic message—but, I needed to go anyways. See it through. So I... I wanted to do something special, meaningful." Wash huffs; stuttering and pausing for the right words. He can’t think of anything to explain it, not how he really wants to.

"To whisk you guys away for a few days. Try to...” he trailed off yet again, coming up with one thought but growing too nervous to follow through. “I don't know what I was thinking, was I trying to go about making better memories of my home city? So... maybe I could visit again without have all these... these panic attacks. I— _shit_ , I'm scared. I'm scared to go back. What if my f—the Director is there, o-or another Freelancer? North or... or York or Florida... Maine... Carolina." He sucks in a breath, "I thought it'll be better with people that I love and trust at my back but, well... I..."

Arms encircled his blanket burrito, Felix’s nose piecing pressed up against Wash’s freckled cheek. “Babe, now you’re making me feel like a _really_ big asshole.”

“But you are an asshole,” he mumbled, no longer fighting the contact they wished to smother him with.

There was a moment of hesitation before Felix spoke his next witty reply. “But you love this asshole,” he snuggled in closer, tucking his nose into his ear and snuffling.

“I do.” This day didn’t change that fact, it might make him question how much _they_ trust _him_ , but he still loves them. Despite everything he still does and he most likely would still do so. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t trust me—none of you do,” _not like I do you_.

They didn’t trust him enough to follow his lead and let him show them something—Dante had his drives, Locus had that hand at the small of Wash’s back or on his knee, Felix had that grin and the words _‘it’s a surprise, babe’_ that they’d use to slip away with him and take him out. Washington was only trying to be responsible; Tigra was still in her cast, and the original plan was to try to stay in Seattle for a few days.

To act like tourists and sightsee—maybe Wash would learn something new at the same time. He had rented a nice hotel room for three days (though he was thinking only on staying for two but three was just in case everything went better than expected), a king size bed and a bathroom that they bragged about. He had spent a crazy amount of money, something he was never comfortable in doing. He bought what he needed, and at times he may treat himself with something he wanted.

But _this_... this was a whole different thing.

-XX-

Washington slipped into the backseat that morning with Felix, sliding over until he could tuck his face into the crook of the man’s neck. “Just drive to Seattle and I’ll tell you were to go when we get there,” he settled against the man, falling limp. He was tired, so extremely tired. He dozed in and out of sleep that night tucked between Felix and Dante, his body shaking and mind racing with the words he had just told them.

They didn’t deny the lack of trust, they didn’t agree. They had fallen quiet, fallen still as Washington began to _attempt_ to force himself into a slumber.

“Wash,” Dante had slid in behind the wheel with a heavy sigh. The seat sliding back to accommodate Dante’s longer legs, his gaze hard in the rear-view mirror as he looked to the blond. “You don’t need to sit back there,” he voiced, thumbs tapping against wheel.

He huffed, “Well none of you trusted me to drive without getting mad so... Whatever. Just drive the rest of the way and I'll tell you how to get to the hotel when we get in the city.” Felix’s shoulders tense under his nuzzling, even as his arms wrap around to mould him to his side.

Locus slides a palm down his face as a groan built in his throat at the mess that found its way back into his lap. “Just drive,” he finally voiced—the quicker they left the quicker they’d get out of the car again. The car spurred to life around them as Dante relaxed behind the wheel, they settled in for anywhere between a four to six hour drive—depending on the traffic and if the man behind the wheel felt like doing anything close to the speed limit.

-XXx-

The looks on their faces as they found parking at the Four Seasons Hotel should’ve brought a smug satisfaction to Washington. It should’ve made him feel good, maybe even a little proud when Locus tried to tangle their fingers together. Instead it made the twisting in his gut worse, tucking his hands in his armpits to avoid anymore attempts to close the distance between them.

Marching to the front desk should’ve been a skip, he should’ve been smiling and nervous—an excited kind of nervous. But all he could do was smile tiredly at the person behind the counter while she clicked and clacked on her keyboard and finally slid the cards towards him.

The looks on their faces when they opened their room and took in the view, the king size, the stupid bottle of champagne with four waiting glasses, and just the room in general—all of it should’ve had him beaming up at them while reaching to pull the closest in for a kiss. Instead Wash slipped off his shoes by the door and folded himself up into the seat by the large floor length windows. Eyes pointedly scanning the horizon as the sun began its descent. Instead the feelings twisted like a knife coated in lemon juice in his heart; twisting and twisting.

“Well now you’re just making us feel like assholes,” a chuckle, a _thunk_ of a duffle making contact with the floor before a body flopped onto the bed with a sigh.

He picked at his cuticles—pick, pick pick, pickpickpick pick. “But you are,” he bit at his bottom lip, pulling and working the skin between his teeth as one of the men sucked a breath between clenched teeth. Wash’s blue-gray eyes shifted away from the sunset, the horizon, and flicked between his three significant others. “You never have to have a reason for some surprise, but when the...” he clenched his eyes shut. Sucking a breath in between his teeth, “but when the _crazy_ one wants to do something special he has run i-it by everyone first.”

He stumbles, _that word_ hurt to even say. It hurt to think let alone speak, but that’s how they saw him, its how they’d always him... wasn’t it? “Washington,” Locus flinched, fist clenched at his side.

“I’m a _big boy_ , Lo. All capable in tying my shoes and dressing myself, I can cook and clean—pay bills too. Hell, I can shoot pretty damn good too.” His lips twitch; that knife continues to twist. Twist and press until he’s feeling sick again, this room growing too claustrophobic for him. “But, I guess you don’t really need to have that... just gotta be lucid enough to have sex with, right? All I’m good—”

“Washington!” Dante’s bark stealing his attention from Locus; brown eyes wide, the scars covering half of his face twitched as his facial muscles spasm with a plethora of emotions.

He jumps to his feet, a hand fisted against his stomach, “it is isn’t it?! You clearly don’t trust me, you say you love me too but you could just be saying that now.” He shouldn’t have put himself so far away from the door; he wanted to run, he needed to run. He needed to get out of this city, get away before something else hurts him. He shakes his head, shakes the thoughts from his mind, “just some little pet project on the side.”

Felix snarls, “oh shut the fuck _up!_ ” Grabbing hold of the blond’s shirt collar, he whirls him around, adjusting his hold and tossing the man onto the bed. He could’ve pushed him back to his seat but he expected the fight, the snarl that Wash answered with when Felix jumped on top and attempted to wrestle him pliant above the covers. He expected the knee to the gut, catching the fist that he swung—he was _scared_ , he was lashing out.

Felix knew about that. He knew the panic in those eyes when Wash noticed that there were two bodies keeping him from the door, between his exit and his freedom. He felt the tension while he slept curled up in his embrace in the car, could feel the tension roll off him with each passing moment when he woke. He watched that wall build up around him when Seattle was on the horizon, in view. He’s seen it in Locus, he’s seen it in the mirror, he’s even seen it in the early days when he’d convince Dante into his bed for the evening—that second or two when the man would piece together where he was, who he was with.

He was still sore, still healing from his spat with Locus. The blond’s knee having found a tender area along his ribs and continued to dig in until he flipped them, straddling the man’s waist as he fought to free his wrists. “Just _let go_!” He tugged as Felix bucked and for a moment both men froze as Wash began to fall sideways, began to fall towards the night table standing proud beside the bed.

For a moment everything felt like a movie—a slow motion fall, that moment before someone rushes into action, the comically wide eyes of shock and fear, and the ultimate return to normal speed where you get to watch the aftermath of the events.

Locus had placed himself between Wash and furniture, the side of the table leg digging into his back as both Wash and Felix’s weight fell awkwardly onto his askew sprawl. Both men panting, collecting their breath as Dante slowly made his way over. Taking a cross-legged seat by Locus’ legs, the man gave both men a quick look over for any added injuries. Nothing big, maybe a bruise or two but nothing lasting.

“You have too much baggage for _just sex_.” Felix chuckles, forehead pressed against Washington’s cheek. “If this was just for sex I wouldn’t have stuck around for more than a week. If I just wanted your tail your _requests_ would have made me leave before the very beginning. So fuck those fears and insecurities, fuck this place and fuck it for making you consider that bullshit!” His brown eyes expressive, swirling with hints of desperation, anger, maybe even a smudge of humor—he did have an odd flair to his humor after all.

The blond shook, his shiver sudden and violent—not a sound peeped from those lips, not a heavy intake of breath or shutter. Not a thing as Felix guided the man into wrapping his arms around his shoulders, or when Dante pressed his cheek against Felix’s back and sighed. “What are you so afraid of, Wash?” the former Insurrectionist inquired tenderly, altering that gravelly voice of his into something kinder.

“A.Is,” he whispered, “Freelancer... my family.” His fingers weave through the long mess of brown and orange streaked hair. “Carolina and Texas should be gone though, those two never look back. But... my fa—the Director lives in the past, it was always about Mum and finding some impossible way to bring her back.”

Locus paused in his petting, “Leonard Church. Fathered two children—” he had read any information that he could on Freelancer. The group had intrigued him and being such a large power in the underground, a society that he and Felix were a part of, Locus found it only necessary to keep tabs on the large names—finding an interest in the fall of the empire only fueled his blossoming obsession.

“Elizabeth and David Church,” Wash finished weakly. “Pleasure to meet you,” he rolled his eyes, a moment of sarcasm smothering out his fear. They were taking it... well, though he couldn’t see Dante—couldn’t gauge the man’s reaction. “To say my... _family_ and I don’t get along is a rather dangerous understatement. We tried killing each other the last time we’ve meet and, if I have it my way, I will uphold that routine.”

“Well we have that in common,” Dante finally spoke up again, face still pressed to Felix’s back as they settled into the impromptu cuddle pile.

-XXxx-

He fell in love once in this building—well, in all actuality he met the guy he’d later fall in love with in this building. He grew up here, surrounded by _unsavoury people_ that society would rather sweep under a rug and forget all about. The last memory of the place that he had was burning it to the ground. “That’s something,” their flashlights swept over the large painted mural on the shell of the wall. Felix huffed in amusement—like that damn photo in Washington’s apartment, he couldn’t figure out which helmet clad head was Wash’s.

“You never got around to informing us which one is you,” Locus’ light swept over the wall, the painting, before them.

It was unlike any graffiti that Washington had ever seen, the artistic flare had his breath captured, conquered and thoroughly beaten into a submission. The _people_ captured into positions that screamed _them_ —South standing confidant and strong, Carolina’s arms up in a fighting stance, Florida’s flirty demeanor captured beautifully. They even captured Maine’s love for his custom made bruteshot (yes, the nerd had went and made a working Halo influenced weapon).

Wash took a step, then another that quickly turned to crossing the distance between himself and the mural. Reaching up, he slapped a palm to the area roughly around the pair of Maine and himself; they stood back to back, Maine furthest from the group while Wash faced them. “Gray and yellow is me,” he turned to face them, smiling a watery grin. He turned his attention back up to the painting, taking in the details in a humbled awe— _shit_.

That’s all he could think: _shit._ And maybe a few wow’s snuck in there.

He could’ve stood there for hours and he wouldn’t have noticed. It was only when Dante was pressing a helmet into his hands that his thoughts were broken. The helmet looked an olive green; the communications were shot—broken but still fixable. “Now you have a trinket to remember this _vacation_ by,” his smile tight, small as he glared up at memories that those helmets served to remind him of.

“Thanks D.”

Turning the helmet over in his hands, getting used to the feel of it cradled in his arms. Maybe he’d start wearing it. Maybe he’d fix it up, paint it in his colours and wear it instead of buying masks and other articles of clothing to hide his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you can still find me on tumblr @shadowsheyla


	25. Team Building Excercise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get busy saving this romantic holiday and the reader learns a bit about Felix (and Locus in extension).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ####  [FinalSymphony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FinalSymphony/pseuds/FinalSymphony) wanted some cute Washlix instead of some smut. And together we ended up tweeking my original idea of "absent!Father" for Felix into an abusive shithead. So... while this is overall a happy chapter there is some very serious undertones throughout it. 
> 
> Warnings: mentions of abuse, bondage, knife play
> 
> I've decided to keep taking prompts/suggestions for this story so feel free to send something my way. The boys need to drive back to Los Santos in the next chapter but an anon made a very long rant about Felix and Washington 'relationship' and I don't think they get it, so thus I'm dragging it out awhile longer because I can and in the end these boys need some cute and hopefully Washington's mental health won't be tough on all of them again.
> 
> MORE NEWS!
> 
> [happyfunballxd drew this fantastic picture](http://shadowsheyla.tumblr.com/post/129681615577/im-a-little-sick-better-then-last-night-and)
> 
> [A picture by me of the boys cuddling ](http://shadowsheyla.tumblr.com/post/129285766137/shadowsheyla-needed-more-of-these-boys-plus-i)
> 
> [GTA 8TRACK MIX #2](http://8tracks.com/shadowsheyla/gta-au-tuna-sandwich-mix-2)

The helmet sat proud and capacious on the desk that first night, the damages noted and the blond man was already puzzling through how to repair it as they tucked themselves snuggly into bed. All curled up in their proper positions; Locus curling into Washington, and Washington hugging Felix while Dante threw an arm over the lot of them and tucked himself into Felix’s unruly mane of hair.

“If you want to see the sights—” Washington paused to yawn, jaw popping from the width in which it stretched. “—tell me now before I decide to never leave this bed,” he pulled Felix in tighter, slipping his legs between both Felix and Locus’ and tangling the mess of limbs together.

Locus chuckles, arms securely wrapped around the blond’s freckled waist and ribs. “No. I want you to myself.” It sent both middle men into a fit of snickers, the whine that Locus’ normally deep voice adopted seemed to push the lighthearted mood into a higher altitude. “I have an obligation to stress certain points that you had brought to my attention earlier. I wish to rectify these thoughts of yours.”

Their snickers trailed off and silence soon crept into the gap in its stead, “Locus, you don’t—”

“I do.” He expressed with such devotion, with such absolution that Wash fell silent. “I trust you. I do. It seems that I haven’t done the proper service to _show_ you my resolve. I apologize,” he tightened his hold around the man, clinging to his desperately. His lips pressed to the tender flesh behind his ear, lathering it was attention—with his devotion.

Washington hummed, he sighed as he melted further into the man’s hold. “Tomorrow. Show me tomorrow,” he yawned again, eyes watering as he fought to keep them open for a moment longer. Felix shifted in his embrace, stretching his neck up to place a kiss to the corner of Washington’s lips.

Locus’ promise triggering his own thoughts—he hasn’t been... well, he hasn’t been making this a healthy relationship for anyone (himself included). Their whole partnership was founded on the events of a kidnapping, an assault and ultimately the return of one David Church better known as Agent Washington of Freelancer into the life of perpetual crime and mayhem. Just that alone was enough to warrant the flags but they were stubborn, they were _addicted_. He’s been addicted to a few things in his life; he knows the scary and ugly affect that it can have on him—on a person.

Felix... Felix _knows_ that he hasn’t been the most enjoyable of people to be around—Washington’s mental health degrading while Dante and Locus scampered to keep the blond sane while Felix only knew how to make it worse. He didn’t know what to do—he hardly knew how to take care of himself, how was he supposed to know how to take care of Washington on top of all that? How in the hells name was he qualified in helping a man like Wash?

Dante’s hand settled heavily on Felix’s waist, sliding up his side as he nipped at the shell of the man’s pierced ear. “We’re going to need to step out for a bit tomorrow,” he whispered in Felix’s ear. Felix nodded; _yes_ , yes he needed to fix this and he was going to figure out the perfect way to do it.

-xx-

“There’s room service,” Washington had groaned out that morning when his lovers started to shift around, started to come to from their slumber. When Dante and Locus continued to shift, making for the edges of the bed Washington took to a different tactic. Rolling on top of dead-to-the-world Felix (the man continuing to snore those kitten like snores of his) and wrapped an arm around his two older lovers on either side. “No. Stay. Sleeping in.”

Dante had muttered something about needing to piss and Wash let the man up; turning a pout towards Locus until the man caved when D finally fought his way from beneath the covers, settling back down and assisting the blond until he settled comfortably on top of Felix. And, in a minute Dante returned to slip beneath the covers and against the joint mass of Felix and Washington in the middle of the bed—Locus and Dante’s fingers intertwining over the seemingly endless mass of freckles coating Washington’s back.

They woke up again when Felix finally stirred, groaning out when he notices a body pinning him to the bed. Two more trapping him in—he couldn’t even move his damn arms! “Someone let me out I need to piss,” something was digging into his bladder—an elbow, a rib, he had no idea just needed to get outta there and run to the damn bathroom. Dante wrapped an arm around Washington, pulling him away from his comfortable perch on top of the smaller man. When Felix stumbled from the bed, lacking that cat-like gait, the larger man returned to the blond to the middle. Returning to the scheduled cuddle session they had slipped into.

Locus moulded himself against Washington’s back, pressing kiss after kiss to the scars digging trenches through his flesh. Carving a trail up to the man’s ear lobe, Locus whispered, “I want you to fuck me.”

The request gave the man’s sleep hazed brain a pause; Washington slithered from both men’s embrace, pushing himself up onto his elbow to get a look at the man curled up behind him. “What?” he gaped down at the man, “say that again?”

His rich brown skin flustered, emerald green eyes flicking between the man’s lips and his blue-gray eyes. “I want you to fuck me,” he repeated, this time with less resolve—more nervous now that Dante became engrossed with their conversation. Again, all Washington did was stare. The thought intrigued him; Locus never rolled over easily, his position given willingly when he _trusted_ the other person to take care of him.

It wouldn’t be the first time that Washington would’ve _fucked him_ (as he states), but it is the first time Locus so openly _asks_ for it.

“Now that’s a good idea,” Felix’s voice shattered the spellbound moment between the pair, pulling the trios attention to the man sauntering back to bed with a sway to his boxer clad hips. “So, here we are in a bit of a bitch. So, due to a giant ass fuck up we’ve got some ass that needs kissing—yeah?” He gestures to his audience with a few flicks of his wrist. “Blondie locks has gone an brought up some interesting points and he did go out of his way to try to create this lovely little _romantic getaway_ for us so,” Felix shrugs, “it’ll be a waste if we don’t christen the room.”

Kicking the mattress Felix nodded towards the door, “D and I need to step out for a bit. Need to go pick up some stuff for this... trust exercise that we’re going to put me through.”

Bondage was always something that Felix liked the idea of—it was an interesting concept but he never really knew how to broach the topic. He wouldn’t have the idea behind it all be sullied by past experiences. It... it was about trust, right?

It... also never helped that he seldom slept with the same people multiple times, save Dante and Locus but that was mostly out of desperation and to relieve built up tension. That, and the fact that Felix wasn’t really _comfortable_ with the idea of someone tying him up and doing whatever they could to him—what if they used that as a way to slit his throat? What if... _no._

Felix had made a lot of enemies throughout the years, so much that he wasn’t even sure what most of them looked like.

But he was going to do it; he was going to hand it off to Wash and _fall_. Suck it in and bite his traitorous tongue before it dug him into a pit that they had grounds to break up with him over—and Felix wouldn’t be able to blame them, not when he was the one that seemed to have the problem reining in his mouth.

-xxx-

His palms were sweaty, sliding up and down Locus’ back. Cupping the man’s ass and pulling him down to grind their crotches together. Panting against the older man’s lips he pushed, easing the man onto his back where he pulled Washington down to cover his being. Fingers digging into the back of Washington’s head, his neck, as lips met with a nip of teeth and a slide of tongue. Underwear pooling in a clump together on the floor as Washington ground their straining erections together, the couple moaning into each other’s mouth at the contact.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing their lips together again. Sliding his hands down the freckled flesh before falling to his side; he sighed when Washington broke the kiss to place another in the centre of the man’s chest. “I’m sorry,” whispered the dark haired man.

Washington hummed in reply, kissing down the man’s chest until he reached his engorged cock. “I’ll take good care of you,” the blond haired man promised before taking the head of the man’s cock into his mouth, doting upon it as he reached for the lube that he had set onto the bed before these activities began.

Hand it to his loves to remember to pack the lube and condom—not once have they ever forgotten to provide for these more fervours of times.

Slicking up his fingers liberally, Wash hooked one of Locus’ legs over his shoulder. Slipping a finger between the man’s cheeks and circling his hole, Washington continued to worship the head of the man’s cock—tonguing the slit, the frenulum before returning right back to swirl his tongue around the head in an effort to distract the man as he slipped the first digit within his body. Distracting him with the slick pleasures of his tongue against the man’s penis glands.

Locus groaned, alternating between bucking his hips towards that succulent mouth or that nimble finger that quickly became two. Cursing weakly under his breath, Locus’ head thumped back against the pillows. His fingers tangling in Washington’s fluffy blond hair as consumed him—devoured, dotted, _loved_ him. Groaning, Locus bucked up again, “Wash. Washington just stretch me.” He was going to cum before Washington’s cock would even breech his anus.

He parted with a wet _pop_ , with a lick of his lips as his scissored those two fingers and twisted—pressing and prying, exploring. He pulled out, applying another coat of lube onto his fingers before pressing in with three. Locus hissed out his groan, moaning at the burn as the man tugged at Locus’ cock and smeared the pre-cum along the shaft.

His saliva made his lips glisten, lips pulled tight into a smile. “You look so _pretty_ ,” he couldn’t think of a more eloquent word in replacement to pretty—he _was pretty_ , there was no argument there. Locus was always beautiful just like how Felix was always _sexy_. It was how they stood, how they walked and talked—their presentation was what made these words tumble into his head and from his tongue. It never made them any less dangerous, any less of a killer. If anything it only helped.

“Just _fuck me_ ,” he groaned, batting those damn delicious hands away from him, making a movie to turn onto his stomach. Washington stopped him with a hand on his hip and a shake of his head.

“I want to see your face,” he insisted, thumb drawing smooth circles on his hip bone. “Only... if that’s okay,” he added quickly, remembering that Locus wasn’t all that fond of facing his partner as they fucked him—embarrassed about his facial expressions or whatever it was.

Locus hesitated, mulling it over with a thick swallow. “Okay. Just...” he sighed, thinking better of finishing his sentence. Washington wouldn’t brag about it, wouldn’t rub his face in the man’s pleasured expressions or insult him for enjoying it.

“Just you and me,” Wash promised, slipping between the man’s knees to lay his body on top his. Sealing their lips together for a chaste kiss; pouring his love, his very being into that press of lips. “Just me and you,” he repeated.

Locus eased the man back up onto his knees, groping along the sheets beside them for the foil wrapped condom. He found it nestled between to hills of the rumbled comforter, smirking up at the grinning man and wiggling the condom package between his fingers in a small victory. “Found it,” he chuckled; keeping it lighthearted, this was _fun_. It was fun.

So, he was a little nervous.

It felt... intimate, so extremely intimate as he rolled the condom down Wash’s cock. Lowering himself back onto his elbows, Locus watched the man apply more lube onto the condom before following his lover. Hooking a leg over his elbow and slowly sliding into the man’s heat. He wrapped an arm around the blond’s shoulders, pressing a sweat slicked palm against his flesh as he sighed.

There was no burn, a minimal feeling of a stretch—he had taken his time with his prep, had stretched him open real thoroughly. Their chests flush, Wash’s hips slowly rocking—in, out. Both moaned at the slow slide, the pace consistent. Torture. Just a slow, loving torture of a rocking. Locus whined; broken, catching in the back of his throat as he bit his tongue to silence it. “You don’t have to. I want to hear it, please Locus. Please love, I want to hear everything you have,” he panted against Locus’ jaw. Kissing at the faint stubble growing from not shaving this morning (he was not gifted like Felix or Washington in the scarcity of facial hair).

He paired his request with a deep, sudden thrust. Surprising Locus enough to pull a cry of both pleasure and shock from his lips; he clenched his eyes shut, opening his mouth to let the next moan loose into the air. Each sound met with one of the blond’s, still ever as vocal as he upped the pace. Lips ghosting over Locus’ jaw as he whispered praise—‘ _you’re doing so good’_ , and _‘you feel so fucking great around my cock’_.

And just as sudden they were rolling. Locus groaned when the man slid deeper, angle adjusting to brush against his prostate— _just enough_ to have his arms buckle, just enough to have him gasping and shivering. Panting, Locus curled his fingers on the man’s chest sitting perched on the man’s lap with his cock buried balls deep into his ass. “I,” he cleared his throat, “I’m not certain in how to...”

He wasn’t confident in setting a rhythm like this; didn’t know how to roll his hips right or how to milk his cock. He wasn’t familiar with the receiving end, and even more so while he was _on top_.

Wash took hold of the man’s hips, “here I’ll teach you.” He guided the man until the cockhead was all that remained encircled by Locus’ heat, “you can rise to any height, really. You just don’t want it to slip out,” he smiled, moaning when he eased the man back down on his cock. “Every so often you can clench—not too much, just a bit. _Ah—fuck!_ ” he bucked when Locus did as suggested, grinding his teeth together at the sudden tightness around his prick.

Locus had seen both Felix and Washington rotate their hips, rolling them in sharp tight circles— _ahhh_ , there was the reason for it. The rotation helped with the location of their prostate, stimulating the gland. Tossing his head back when he repeated the move; sighing at the pleasure racing through his body. Fanning out from his spine to the tips of his toes and fingers as he rose and sank upon that cock with the ever helpful guidance of Washington’s sweat slicked hands.

With his pleasure mounting, a rhythm building, Locus grew confidant enough to still himself for a moment. Stealing a kiss from Washington’s pleasure bitten lips, “I love you,” he admitted yet again, pressing a kiss to the underside of Wash’s chin.

“I love you,” Washington answered, sliding his hands up the man’s back and rolling them over again. He took hold of Locus’ wrists, trapping the willing man’s hands beside his head as he wrapped his legs around Wash’s freckled waist. “Gorgeous. You’re so fucking _gorgeous_. Eyes like emeralds and a voice that makes me wish for you to spend the rest of our lives whispering _anything_ in my damn ears.”

The bed squeaked beneath the occupants’ moans, groans and cries of pleasure. Allowing one of Locus’ hands free to fist his cock and linking their fingers together in the one he held still, Wash shifted, altering his pace into a frenzied piston of hips. Their groans constant now as their orgasms neared; just... just _almost there_. They could taste it.

Taste it when Locus pulled the man down to seal their lips together once more for a final clash of tongues. They came milliseconds apart, bodies shivering as they continued to kiss—to pant into the other’s mouth as they caught their breath.

They didn’t separate until long after it was required to; spending their afterglow amongst kisses and embraces. For a moment it was just the two of them and this bed; just Locus and Washington wrapped up in each other.

“So,” Locus cleared his throat, “you think my voice is sexy.” He _smiled_ —honestly smiled—up at the blond, rewarded with flushing of cheeks and a cracked voice not denying it, but _defending_ his preference.

It didn’t make things suddenly better, they all knew that. They all were well aware that it suddenly wouldn’t clear up overnight like some passing overcast. It’ll be something to work on so it might as well start as of today.

-xxxx-

Wash didn’t know _what_ he was expecting when Dante and Felix insisted upon stepping out while he and Locus had their _alone time_ but it wasn’t the plain giant black bag that sat in the chair before them. Not when they started pulling out the handcuffs, ropes and began stripping.

They explained briefly what idea they had behind everything—Dante was going to be handcuffed behind his back completely naked and Washington could do whatever he pleased within their already pre-established boundaries. Which, in Dante’s case meant that he wasn’t a fan of things near his asshole. Felix, on the other hand, was going to be bound completely and left at Washington mercy—that had Locus sucking in a breath.

There was a story there that Washington felt that _now_ wasn’t the time for. There was a history with those two, skeletons in their closets that they’d admit to in their own due time. Felix stood in his batman styled silk boxers with his hands out wide, “do you want me to strip from these too or...?” He wiggled his fingers as his smirk grew raunchy.

Extracting himself from Locus’ embrace to shimmy down to the foot of the bed, Washington shook his head. “Its kinda chilly and it sounds like D and I are doing our stuff first while you watch so,” he grinned, “I’ll _let you_ keep your underwear.” His teasing had Felix surging forwards, stealing himself a kiss before things started.

Before he bit back his own fears and tied himself up.

-X-

 _“Pops is gonna be home,”_ Felix _swirled the fry into the glob of ketchup between them. The thing of fries serving as the great divide between the pair as_ Locus _continued to read. He was always the studious one, always looking for a moment to jump ahead in his readings._

_“Same rules as always?” Wait an hour after the trunk is gone before using the spare key._

_He could only nod. Mr. Andrada would be back for two weeks to ‘visit’ with Mum and he before driving off in that huge ass hulking ass piece of shit he calls a transport. If anything it made the fact that they were what people called ‘trailer trash’ even more pronounced. It was fucking... annoying._

_Running a hand over his face, Felix made note to shave before the man could get a look at him—just in case._

-Xx-

It was an odd sight, an odd _feeling_ in general to have all this... control at his fingertips. Locus was removed from the situation, taking up residence in the seat that had housed the once full black bag. He had slipped a pair of sweat pants on, relaxing in a spread-out ease with his toes nudging against the sole of Felix’s right foot.

He could feel the man’s chest tense when the cuffs restrained him from reaching up to holding Washington as the man pressed a kiss to his jaw, to the underside of the man’s chin, to his neck and collar. He nipped at the M in **REDEMPTION** , licking at one of the centre teeth belonging to the shark jaw tattoo in the centre of the man’s chest before repeating the action on the lower set of teeth.

Dante’s hips bucked when he felt the man’s fingers trace the pronounced V and slipping to ghost through the dark trimmed pubic hair around his cock. Washington at the man’s stomach, eyes narrowing when the man sucked in a hiss. He pressed kisses to the hair leading south to the man proud, engorged cock. Fingers caressing further down to the man’s legs, then knees before he pushed himself up off the bed with a quick flick of his tongue against the flushed head of his cock.

He slipped from the bed with an ease he learned from watching Felix, dancing away on the balls of his feet when Dante groaned in outrage. He couldn’t help but wiggle his pajama clad hips as he spun ‘round and _skipped_ to where Felix kneeled. “Felt a little bad leaving you all alone down here,” he purred, the control making him _giddy_ as he pressed their lips together in a sheering kiss. Slipping his tongue between the man’s teeth and sliding against the man’s pierced tongue.

He moaned into the kiss, tangling his fingers into Felix’s dyed brown and orange hair as he pressed their naked chests together. “You’re weirdly into this,” Felix snickered when they parted for a breath. His eyelids sliding shut when Washington pressed another kiss to his lips, then another one quickly afterwards.

The blond shrugged, “I like being a tease.” It was _fun_ , he got to poke and prod and pull them along until they eventually dug their heels in and cried out _no more_. It’s why Washington liked giving oral, it’s also _why_ he doesn’t mind being ‘bottom’. When he felt confidant, he felt _confidant_ —he showed it off, flaunting it to his partners.

He hasn’t felt this confidant in awhile, not with those last strings of episodes that have wracked his mind and his boyfriends. Its... difficult feeling sexy when your brain doesn’t want you to feel _good_ —doesn’t want you even feeling like yourself.

“Be gentle with him, he’s been taking care of you,” Felix whispered against the man’s plush lips. Their noses bumping together when Felix’s words gave him pause. He nodded, surging in for one last open mouthed kiss before slipping away.

-Xxx-

 _“Pops was never really fatherly,” he snorted, whimpering at the barbed wire being extracted from his neck. He tried to keep that teary eyed gaze on the computer screen in front of him as_ Locus _took care of his neck._

 _“He’s a piece of shit, you’re not going back.” In the reflection of the computer monitor_ Felix _could see the monstrosity that his once beautiful hair had become. Patches were missing; shaven down to what Felix could only assume was a number three razor. He felt ugly, broken. It didn’t help that_ Locus _was going to even out the forced cut or shave a design of_ Felix’s _choice on his head._

_He wanted his beautiful shaggy curly hair back; he wanted his black curls that he could tuck behind his ear. He wanted anything that wasn’t this._

_He didn’t even notice_ Locus _disappearing after he wrapped up his neck, didn’t even notice him slipping away to remove the wire from sight until he was greeted with a pile of long silky rich brown hair on the desk beside his hand. The meaning hadn’t yet dawned upon the teenager until he turned to stare up at the shaven head of his friend._

 _“No... no,”_ Felix _breathed, hands shaking as he gripped either side of the teen’s face and brought it down the inch or two he needed to take in the cut. That would be_ Felix’s _last growth spurt while_ Locus _would continue growing well until he was three months into year nineteen._

Locus _patted his hand, wrapping an arm around his best friend and bringing their foreheads together. “New start. This is_ us _. No more putting up with him for your Mum, you should never have had to in the first place.” He was putting his foot down now, now was when he wouldn’t let him return home—never again. His mother would be made aware; the fucking cops would be called._

_Never again with that barbed collar or those impromptu ‘shaving lessons’. No more._

-Xxxx-

Dante wasn’t thrilled when Washington slithered away, even more so when he left Felix to start rooting through their luggage. Pulling out clothes—jeans and a shirt, of all things. He was supposed to _lose_ clothing, not gain it.

So, in an effort to refrain from commenting on his blond hair’s lover sudden need to tease him so, he turned his attention to his snickering lover comfortably relaxing in his chair. Occasionally reaching over to tug on a strand of Felix’s hair, darting his fingers away before Felix could turn and nip them. "Oh shut up, you're just in a good mood 'cause you got off already."

Locus’ eyes squinted in amusement as he met his gaze, "Yes. And now I get to watch as he tortures you now."

How he said it gave the man pause. His eyes narrowing as he puzzled it over, "What did he get you to do, huh?" The ever so slight widening of the man’s eyes weighed heavily, "did he fuck you on your hands and knees? In the bathroom? On the floor?" He continued to list, watching for a tell. Locus had one—they all did. Wash bit at his lip; Felix either clicked his tongue against his teeth or played with the ball on his tongue ring. Dante falls silent before a grin breaks out, "you rode him, didn't you."

And there it was; the flick of the man’s gaze wavering from his and the darkening of his ears. Locus’ tells were never consistent, they changed based on his situation. But sexual, romantic... anything revolving around this relationship had him bashful.

It was Locus’ turn to snap out a quick, “shut up,” as he continued to study the horizon.

-Xxxxx-

 _He gripped the back of the teenager’s shirt, tugging at the end of it that one spring evening. “I never said thank you,”_ Felix _couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t say it with him looking in his eyes and seeing just how much it meant._

_He could feel that green eyed gaze rove over his features, taking in the curls growing in nicely on his head. “You never had to—you never do.”_

-XX-

He returned to bed dressed in those sinfully tight skinny jeans and one of Dante’s loose fitting tank tops. “I hate that shirt,” his tried the cuffs again when the man began to kiss down his chest. Laying between Dante’s legs Wash took his time biting, sucking and marking up the tattooed flesh with love bites.

“It’s _your_ shirt,” he smirked, shuffling down until the man’s crotch was level with his face. He bent his knees, curling toes as he kicked his legs almost childishly to and fro. Wash taps his fingers in rhythm to the cheery little tune he has plaguing his thoughts.

The man let out a huff in his brief snit, tugging again at his bindings when the blond blew at the moist head of his cock. The beads of cum dribbling down his length; it had gathered in a dip on his stomach as the man had flaunted and teased him earlier. “Yes, it’s a completely different discussion when it’s _on me_ and no being used to torture me,” he snapped back curtly.

Wash bats his eyelashes up at the man, “I have no _idea_ what you’re talking about!” He coos and promptly swallowed the man’s cock. Dante howls, bucking up into that hot wet heat swallowing him down. The man’s cries break off into another moan as Wash pins his hips, and hums around his girth. Hollowing out his cheeks in the upstroke the blond lathers the head with spit and tongue, slurping up that pre-cum before slipping back down that cock at a pace that mirrored Dante’s fucking style: harsh, deep, and fast.

Dante groans, tossing his head back and forth as the man made quick work out of him—flicking his tongue, dragging his teeth in just the right amount to send the man hissing and bucking back up against Washington’s hands. There was something about that man’s love of flirting with both pleasure and pain in sex that made Wash giddy. It got him honing those skills of his that he pushed aside in favour of surviving while on the run.

Trailing his tongue up the sensitive skin he had toyed with in an apology, Wash hummed around the cock. Sinking back down the length, the blond continued to hum. Flicking his eyes up as he eased the pressure off the man’s hips to slip his hands under his back. Creeping up until he tangled their fingers together beneath Dante’s back.

These three brought out a piece of the old Washington—the _David_ hidden beneath the name of Washington. They brought out the pinch of adolescent glee, that bravery that had him willingly tossing aside his struggles to submerge himself in the moment. To submerge himself in _them_.

The man moaned, “Wash— _shit_ , Wash I’m going to cum.” His hips bucked unhindered, the head of his cock firmly pressed down the man’s throat. Dante groaned when Washington hummed again. He took it so beautifully, so readily. Milking him towards completion with such glamour; there was no argument that the man gave great head. None. “Wash— _Wash_ , I’m—” he had tried to warn him, he did, but it was too much. Just too _too_ much.

He swallowed it down without complaint, eyes falling shut as he swallowed. Pulling away from the man’s cock with a gasp followed by a series heavy panting, Washington caught his breath. Forehead resting against the man’s stomach, Washington sighed.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re great at taking cock?” Dante’s voice incoherent the bass of his typical deep voice now a solid rumble of smugness. Of a pleased cat-like purr, like the damn feline had captured all the canaries in the world and was currently feasting upon them now.

Wash pressed a kiss to the man’s hip, stretching and pushing himself out of his perch from between the man’s legs. “I’ve been told a time or two,” he winked turning to gesture towards Locus to unclasp the cuffs.

His gaze fell to Felix; the hunger in his gaze had him licking at his lips. He didn’t plan on anything sexual with the man; they didn’t need help with sex. “I’ll be back,” he slipped from the bed, padding his way to the bathroom for the equipment.

-XXx-

 _They hone their skills; slipping out into the woods with their hunt licenses and the excuse of hunting deer when in all actuality_ Felix _has a plan and involved making them the best. As kids they used to run drugs for the local gangs—they were kids, they wanted money and cops never tended to look their way. With the situation that surrounded_ Felix’s _father came a new dedication for the teen to gut him, to grab the very weapons that the man would direct towards him and made it his primary._

 _As his hair grew out_ Felix _and_ Locus _slipped back into crime. The younger of the pair oozing with a confidence that had people itching to snub it. To smear that face into the dirt._

 _Every pay they got they’d funnel it towards their new duty towards their_ job _._

_Graduating high school, slipping into the woods to hunt—everything was a necessity for when they shed their names and adopted the names of Felix and Locus. They were nothing but mercenaries now; at the ages of seventeen and eighteen, hired killers looking to gain traction._

_They worked odd jobs—backup for drug dealers and slavers out towards the East Coast. They went across the Atlantic to work jobs in South Africa then back over to Mexico. They bounced, following the new contract that Felix would grab. The names of Felix and Locus slowly creeping up in everyone’s radars. They were a young pair, their hit list expanding quickly. Their skills growing, adapting._

_It wasn’t until they were twenty-three and twenty-four that Malcolm Hargrove plucked up their contract and they climbed. They climbed and soared under his pay, their skills reaching to what they were in the present day—death was something to laugh about now, it was always the_ other _that died. They would never._

_Death did not want them and they did not want it._

-XXxx-

Felix watched as the man crossed the room, slipping into the washroom as Locus made quick work of the handcuffs restraining the man on the bed. The pair quickly tangling together once Dante slipped free, pulling the taller man down to feather kisses against his lips. "Cruel and unusual punishment," he states.

Locus nods his agreement, all too aware that Wash was being a horrible tease. Even now he was drawing this out and had Felix sweat on the carpet. "Cruel blondie!" Felix calls towards the bathroom when the man clangs and bumps into whatever it was he was making a mess out of. Felix pouts up at the cuddling pair, Dante curling in Locus' side as he tossed a throw over his waist for a semblance of modesty. "He's planning something. Lo, make sure he's kind." He's being dramatic, they're all aware of the flair he's displaying.

He's keeping it light, holding himself proud and strong in front of them all. Locus knows better, knows the meaning behind the slight tilt of his head or the tensing of his muscles. He's testing the hold, constantly testing. He's putting himself into a place of weakness that no one but he and Locus were truly aware of.

Washington slips from the bathroom with a moist towel and another tossed over a naked shoulder. "Now you take the shirt off!" Dante's exclamation makes the blond man chuckle, tossing said shirt towards the cuddling pair.

Felix doesn't laugh.

His breath catching in his lungs when he spots the shaving cream in the man's hands. His gaze panicked, finding Locus' as his partner glances between the cream and Felix. "Wash," he begins. Swallowing thickly, words catching when the man kneels in front of Felix as he begins to untie his arms.

"I know it's different than what I've done with the others but the two of us... Well, our sex life doesn't really leave much to play around with without adding pain play into it. But I don't want that and I know you're not going to get off on being in pain." Felix's arms fall loose, quickly crossing over his chest in confusion as the man takes a seat and shows him his collection. "So, I figured that I'll shave your face for you knowing how much you like maintaining your appearance."

He sets both the can of shaving cream in the man's hand and the sheathed knife that he had grabbed from Felix's pile of clothing upon taking his seat. Felix couldn't shake the tremor that his hands had adopted upon checking over the two _gifts_ in his hands.

He doesn't know the weight that he's asking of him. He doesn't know about Felix's father or his so-called _shaving lessons_. He couldn't have. Only he and Locus know about that.

"Wash," Locus begins again, slipping from beneath Dante and the throw to stop him.

Felix shakes his head, "just don't touch my hair. Yeah?" He forces a smirk onto his lips as he hands the cream and knife towards his lover.

Wash gifts him with a quick peck to his lips, setting the knife and can to the floor so he could cup the man's face. "I love you and that damn mane of yours," he teases, pulling the man into another kiss.

His lighthearted comment gives him the ability to suck a breath in, to pull away and rub their noses together in a brief moment of compassion. "Just... Please be careful," his fear is creeping into his voice; tight, and sharp. He's not above begging at this moment--no, every little nerve within him is screaming _run_ but Felix sits strong. He sits still as Wash gathers the dry towel, covering Felix's lap in the large crisp white fabric. Pecking his cheek before reaching for the can and spraying out the blue gel that expanded into a large white foam.

He covers the man's cheek, jaw and neck in the substance. Lathering the skin liberally before pulling a face at the mess covering his hands. He would wipe it off on the towel but would he didn't wish to run any risk at nicking Felix's flesh with his blade. He kept them sharp, extremely so, and Wash refuses to mark that lovely brown flesh of his. "I'm going to rinse this shit off," he smiles, kissing the man's forehead before rushing off to rinse his hands.

He isn't even gone for a minute, not even enough for Felix to gather himself before he falls to his knees and pulls the knife from its sheath. "I'm going to start now," he warns and Felix nods sharply. Clenching his eyes shut for a moment, feeling the tell of a blade slip up his neck. Gentle, so extremely so that his eyes fly open in shock.

He sucks in breath after breath, forcing himself to remain stone still while the man smoothed the blade through the shaving cream covering his face. Wash's gaze soft but focused as he trimmed the stubble with a steady hand. Pulling back and cleaning the blade with the moist towel wordlessly, only voicing when he was going to place the knife to Felix's skin again.

Felix held his breath when the blade smoothed up the front of his throat. "You're doing great love," the blade set aside as he pressed a quick and loving peck to Felix's lips. He makes quick work, there wasn't a lot to trim. Just a little cluster of patches that had begun to grow and that Felix hadn't felt like tending to that morning before slipping out with D.

Wash wiped away the excess shaving cream on the man's face, there was only a part of the man's right cheek and jaw left. "You alright?" The blade still seated by the man's side as he posed his inquiry. Felix clenched his eyes shut, nodding sharply. "Well we're almost done," he could hear the smile in Wash tone, "just your cheek left." He felt the poke of the man's finger through the cream.

His eyes sliding open, quickly morphing into a glare when the blond smudged the white cream off on the tip of Felix's nose. "Love you," he smiles, the corner of his eyes softening when Felix's lips puckered. He succumb to the man's request; the kiss lasting longer than the ones he had stolen from him before. Upon pulling away Washington's gaze grew serious, "I'm going to continue now."

Felix's gaze snapped back to Wash's face, zoning in on his expression. Always calm, so open. His gaze is clear as he sets about on his task.

He leans back suddenly with a wide grin, " _now_ we're almost done." He gestures to the part of Felix's jaw closest to his ear. "I just need to tackle that part again, being a bit of a shit." He winks, setting down the knife to wipe off the rest of the excess shaving cream from his face. Running a palm over the cluster of stubble that he had mentioned with a hum, he kissed the cluster of fine prickly hairs before plucking the knife back up into hand. "Ready?"

Felix nodded.

It must have been the mixture of a sloppy hold and the angle he had to angle both himself and the blade that had Washington hissing. The blade smoothing over the jut of Felix's jaw as expected, until a sudden slip of the blade had Washington catching it with his thumb. He didn't want to nick Felix's skin, didn't want to dampen that exercise with the last second. So... well, it’s not like Washington doesn’t cut himself often while shaving. Razors seemed to share a hatred for him like cars did. Though, this was a knife.

The look of horror expanded; fanning from the man’s eyes to the flare of his nostrils, from his mouth falling open to it closing with a click when he reached the realization that it _wasn’t his blood_. He didn’t feel the bite of the knife, didn’t feel blood swell. “Wash,” he swallowed the saliva pooling on his tongue. Watching the man pout and suck on his thumb, pulling away to sneak a peek before stuffing it back into his mouth.

He tossed the towel from his lap, tearing himself out of his leg restraints and stuffing that _fucking knife_ back into his sheath so he can chuck it as far away from them as possible. It was then, and only then, that he pulling the man’s hand away from his face to take a look at the mess that he made of himself. “I cut myself shaving all the time,” he grinned leaning into Felix and wrapping himself around the man.

They fell back onto the carpet, Felix dragging the blond on top of him as he stuffed his thumb into his mouth and pressed the tip of his tongue to the wound. He wasn’t sure if Wash had cleaned his mouth after sucking Dante off, he was too busy before to figure out if those kisses tasted like cum or not.

There’s movement in the bed, both older men slipping out of their huddle when Felix dragged Washington down. Glancing over the end of the bed, Dante snorted at the image they were met with. “So, you mentioned bath...” his excitement clear, horribly hidden as he smiled down at the pair.

Felix hummed, “a bath sounds fucking fantastic.”

-XXxxx-

_Locus fell back into the mattress covered with only a slim blanket, running a hand through his hair as he glared at the call list on his phone. Tossing the device to the floor beside his bed for the evening he slid under the blanket, settling with his back against his partner’s._

_“All good?” his tone tired as he questioned him._

_“Mom’s sick, my sister wants me to visit. They aren’t sure if they have to money for the treatment,” Locus tucks his arm under his head. He needed to go to bed now before they had to meet with their new client in the afternoon. He could never really get used to bouncing between on contract to the other, each client had their own internal clock and how they’d run their crew and the hires._

_He hated the first day, bouncing between one schedule to the new. Locus needed a moment to sent his own clock, to power on and through. He wasn’t a machine, not yet—maybe soon, he would. He would get there._

_“Send some money to them. I like your Mum, better than mine. Call it a birthday or... whatever present. Just get her that cash and see about getting her that treatment,” Felix rolled over, throwing an arm over his partner’s chest and snuggling his face between the man’s shoulder blades._

-XXxxxx-

Locus had taken the blond’s hand, waving the other two forwards towards the bath claiming that they’d be there in a moment. It wasn’t until Felix was thrown over Dante’s naked shoulder, the man _prancing_ away with the promise of a bath, and the bath finally being drawn does Locus finally explain why he separated Washington from the others.

“Felix and I grew up together, since the beginning of school—I had moved to the same neighbourhood as he when I was six. He had called me his best friend on the first day,” he trailed off. He was aware that he was rambling, going on in a direction that he didn’t intend to venture. But, now that they were alone he wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. “Felix’s father was never a kind man and _that_ ,” he nodded towards the can and towel by their feet, “that was a type of _punishment_ the man would bestow upon him when he’d return home.”

The blond sucked in a breath, “ _shit_. Wh-why didn’t you or Felix _stop me_?” he hissed. It made so much _sense_. The fear in his eyes, the fact that his gaze never wavered from Washington or that knife—he never cracked a smile, never shot out a joke.

“Felix allowed it for his own reasons,” Locus pressed their foreheads together, inhaling in the man’s scent. They stood like that until the tap turned off, “things have been difficult for all of us this last while.” Washington agreed with a nod, taking the man’s hand and leading him towards the bathroom.

Once inside the bright room Washington and Locus began to shuck their clothes from their persons, smirking down at the pair already submerged in the bubbles. “Jesus D, extreme bubble bath.” The man in question only shrugs, burying his nose into the mass of curls onto of Felix’s head. They lay in the tub, back to chest, soaking their still tensed muscles.

Washington eyed the pair, planning how he was going to worm his way into the cuddles—he concludes that he’d rather like mirroring the position that Dante and Felix had snuggled into but instead using the smaller male as his resting board. “Wash...” Dante caught onto the glint in the man’s eyes as he crossed the small remaining distance between he and the tub. The tub was larger than most, that part was obviously true, but to hold four grown men (two of which over six feet in height) without incident... well, that would be pure stupidity.

 Call him what you will: stupid, insane, stubborn, driven. Wash was still going to get in that damn tub. Wash was clumsy when it wasn’t a life or death situation—when there weren’t bullets or explosions to steady his ankles and even out his balance. But who would’ve thunk it when Wash stepped into the basin, his toe finding a leg and the rest of his foot was slipping and sliding away from where he was originally handing his weight off to.

He fell with a _splash_ , bubbles and water spraying out four hands saved him from a nasty collision. Locus, he had meant well, but his distance only allowed him to clutch at the man’s leg as it stuck up into the air. “I didn’t crush your nuts, right?” Wash pouted; bubbles slowly dissipating in his hair, on his face and even on the leg that he slipped out of Locus’ hold.

Felix groaned, “Just gut” was his answer as he helped situate the man between his legs. Wrapping his arms around his shoulders and lavishing the man’s ear with quick pecks, nipping at the lobe. He hissed, “No. I’m good,” when the man’s hand reached down to fondle his flaccid cock. “ _This_ is good.”

He couldn’t believe he was turning down the opportunity of getting off. Even as Locus slid into the tub on the opposite end, the tap in the middle of the tub so he didn’t have to worry about the tap digging into his spine as he relaxed. Even as the man played with Washington’s cute freckled toes Felix couldn’t quiet grasp his line of thoughts.

The blond wiggled in Felix’s hold, snickering and hissing. “Locus,” he warned, squirming again. The man in question shares a look with Felix—it _screams_ trouble, just screams that they’d have a wiggling, giggling, howling Washington splashing about in the bath. Felix grinned devilishly.

Together Locus and Felix attacked; fingers finding the soles of Washington’s feet, finding ribs and the crook of his neck. The water sloshed, splattering against the flooring as Washington bucked and squirmed, howling and cursing in-between his heavenly sounding laughter—it could warm over the coldest tundra of Hell, could unfreeze Shiva from final-fucking-fantasy, Felix would even put money on it being used a weapon against the White Walkers in Game of Thrones.

“STOP!” He begged, pleading as the water and bubbles continued to splash and make a mess. The three other men cracked their own grins, chuckling their own little forms of laughter as the man squirmed and howled.


	26. Return Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just self indulgent porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker wanted roadhead, and I've been in a mood for McDonalds. That's pretty much all I can say about this mess.

The cop hooked his sunglasses to the front of his shirt, “are you aware of how fast you were going?” Dante drummed his thumb against the wheel while Felix snickered in the back seat. “I take that as a _‘yes Officer’_ ,” the officer snorted leaning down and taking in the passengers. He doubled back, “David Church!?”

Washington startled, eyes narrow up at the dark haired officer. “Oh hey John, small world.” He rolled down his own window, crossing his arms on the door and resting his chin upon his folded arms. “How’s the girlfriend?”

Officer John shrugged, “she broke her foot two weeks back. Her job put her on leave until she could walk about unhindered. She’s enjoying the time off.” He tapped his fingers against the pad he held in his hand as he and Washington continued to catch up, sometime during the conversation the officer handed back the registration and Dante’s licence without looking. “You staying in town?”

Wash shook his head in the negative, “just leaving. Going back home down in Cali.” The man nodded, humming at the thought.

“Tell that driver of yours to stop going twenty over.” He slipped his sunglasses from his shirt, pointing the arm at Dante, “that’s a warning sir.” With one final tap to the vehicle he waved them off, slipping his shades over his eyes as the four men slipped back onto the road and drove (within the speed limit) away.

“Well that was a thing,” Felix snorted, “your Freelancers own that?” Washington nods; their gang had a few hands in many law officials’ pockets, influencing their choices and ensuring their own survival. It wasn’t uncommon to have a few _dirty cops_ on payroll, if anything it was odd to _not_ have them. “Huh,” is all Felix replies with, settling back for the long ride ahead.

-xx-

Locus pays for the motel that night; another two bed room. Instead of the tense atmosphere they were surrounded by the last time they found themselves in a similar situation they found themselves tossing their bags to the floor between the beds and throwing down for a rock paper scissors. The two people who played the same sign slept together.

Sure, they could snuggle all into one bed but Locus and Dante were big guys. They may like to cuddle up to their bed partners, but it was still nice to have some room every so often in ways of a choice now and then. Plus, it gave some opportune moments for some one-on-one snuggles—those were nice every so often as well.

“3... 2... 1,” two rocks, two scissors—that was certainly interesting.

Felix threw his arms up, “fuck you! Rock wins fuckers! I get Washington and I’m getting laid!” He waggled his brows towards the blond man, gasping in mock hurt when the man bushed him away teasingly. The crinkle in the corner of his eyes and the smile on his lips gave him away—he was loving every moment of it.

He eased him back, one foot after the other to the bed furthest from the door. Washington had a thing against sleeping closest to the door or the window (though he’d pick the door over the window if he was forced to choose), and if there was one thing that Felix was going to see to tonight it would be that Washington was _enjoying_ himself (and Felix).

Slipping his fingers beneath the blond’s shirt and sliding up his back, “I’m cashing that offer of getting me off now.” Felix let out, his words muffled against Washington’s lips. Together they sank to the bed, parting just long enough to toss their shirts to the floor and squirrel their way up the bed towards the pillows.

Like a couple of teenagers, they pawed and groped for the other. Rolling around until Felix found his comfortable spot between the blond’s legs and ground their covered crotches together as Dante groaned out an annoyed “ _Really?!_ ” Both he and Locus were the ones driving and claimed that they weren’t interested in any sexual matters in the car earlier when they stopped in through a drive-thru to grab a bite to eat. Of course, both Felix and Wash would take that as a challenge.

Sliding his hands down the inside of Washington’s thighs, slipping down those jean covered legs and cupping the man’s bulge. Felix nipped at the corner of his lip, “I have an idea.” Wash raised a brow, silently prompting him to continue along with that train of thought. “Up, up.” Guiding him up onto his knees Felix took the blond's place laying on the bed, unzipping those sinfully tight pants of his and wiggling them, and his boxers, down his trim hips to pool around his knees. "Your turn," he waggled those pierced brows of his when the realization kicked in.

"If you insist," Wash teased, standing on the bed and shedding the rest of his clothes with an ease that could only be the effect of lots of clothes removal. He spared the two larger men a grin, tossing his clothes at them and chuckling when Locus groaned. He lowered himself back to the bed, to Felix, kneeling over the man's face before falling to his elbows above him. "This what you wanted?"

The man groaned, kissing the flushed dip of blondie's cock. "Well, I'll finger you later but yes. Yes this was the position I wanted."

"Good," the blond haired man replied before swallowing down Felix's prick.

The man groaned, bucking up into that heat. There were a few things that they learned about Washington upon beginning this sexual relationship; the favourites had to be that the man was extremely limber and he had _no gag reflex_. There was something just incredibly sexy about a man that can swallow down another's cock and the other man could feel those swallows around his cock. "Oh fuck baby," Felix moaned, taking the head of Washington's cock into his mouth. Swallowing down the length with a moan, he sucked. Lathering the head, the shaft with saliva to ease the slide down. Pulling back with a long suck, Felix moaned again.

“The two of you are _assholes_ ,” Dante groaned from the direction of the other bed. Both Felix and Washington promptly flipped the man off, both moaning dramatically around the cock in their mouth—only for it to mould into a real one at the vibrations mixing with the suctions, the slick, the motion.

It was going to be slow, drawn out—a show for the other two men to get off to, but the more they played it up. The more Washington’s tongue swirled around Felix’s head, lips and teeth delicately pulling _just so_ at his cock ring before swallowing the man back down and fucking his own face with Felix’s cock— _fuck_. The more Felix sucked, pulling off to lick a patch up the underside of Washington’s slicked cock and over his balls, _behind_ them and licking into the man’s puckered hole as he fisted Wash’s cock.

Well, it became less about the show and more about cumming—more about moaning into or around the other’s intimate privates, tasting the other on their tongue. Felix came first, cum shooting down the man’s throat—nose buried against his balls as he swallowed him down. It was minutes later that Washington came, cum spurting in ribbons down Felix’s chest with a loud groan.

Catching their breath, not yet capable in moving from their intimate position they turned their heads towards the groans in the bed beside theirs. Greeted with sight of Locus’ arm behind his head while the other wrapped around both Dante and his cocks as the man thrust into the tight fist.

It was only much later, after all four were cleaned up and stripped down to a proper amount of clothing to sleep in (read: boxers) that Felix and Wash shared a grin in the dark. Their fists bumping together in congratulations.

-xxx-

Locus pulled off the road into McDonald’s parking lot after Felix demanded, very loudly, that he wanted a “thing of fucking chicken nuggets, asshole. Pull over.” Dante would swear that Locus’ entire right side of his face twitched when Washington snorted with amusement at the man’s over-the-top theatrics. Nearly three hours stuck together in a car for the day and the radio was getting on all their nerves but it was better than the silence. To make matters worse Locus woke up with a headache that morning—either from not drinking enough the day before or not sleeping enough the last few days after being spoiled for too long.

Felix, with a skip in his step, bounded over to wrap his arms around the waists of Dante and Washington. “The two of you, as much as I think you look good together, need a bit of Felix in the middle,” his hands continued south, slipping into their back pockets as they crossed the parking lot with Locus bringing up the rear with a scoff. Felix glanced over his shoulder, sticking his tongue out at the man now that his own mood has been rejuvenated. “Oh don’t mope, I’m sure Wash would take your hand,” he says Washington rather than Dante seeing as the man just threw an arm over his shoulders and began leading him (and Washington) towards the door.

The blond huffed, slipping from Felix’s hold and back to join Locus with a check of his hip against Locus’ leg. “You didn’t have to,” is the comment that Washington is met with as the blond grips the man’s hand, weaving their fingers together. Wash only rose a blond brow up at the man before he shrugged his shoulders and pulled him along.

-xxxx-

Dante slipped into the backseat when they finally returned to the car, kicking the front passenger seat forwards the man stretched out before Washington pushed him over to the center seat. The man’s mouth dropped open to complain but Washington pointed to the front seat that the man should have been filling, “if you don’t want to sit in the middle, get in the front.”

He did not.

Instead the man had spread open his legs in a relaxed, over-the-top, typical male sitting fashion and threw his arms back behind both Felix and Washington’s shoulders. He didn’t make any move until Locus had merged back onto the road and plugged Felix’s phone in—thumbing through his music absentmindedly as he kept his attention primarily on the road.

They’d no doubt make it back home in about an hour or two if Locus and his sudden lead foot had anything to say. He just wanted to be home—gather Washington’s cats, curl back up in his own bed. Maybe make love to the blond—no, _no_. He’d _fuck_ him tonight; make up for the teasing that Felix and he had subjected them to the night before. He knew Dante had something in mind to rub their noses in.

Locus glanced up into the rear-view mirror when he heard twin seatbelts un-clicking. He was met with the smug look in Dante’s eyes as he made both men kiss between him. That... Locus forced his gaze back to the road in front of him. _Fuck it_ , Locus thought clenching his fingers around the wheel. He was going to tie them all up with that bondage shit D and Felix bought—let them pout as he takes his time. He’d fuck Wash first. He already planned for that, no use switching plans now.

But Felix and Dante—well, Dante made things difficult. He couldn’t exactly _fuck him_ like the other two. Though he could possibly tie him up and just leave him to watch. Throw in a gag for added measures—Locus’ attention snapped back to the backseat when the sound of Dante’s fly caressed his ears. Felix’s lips firmly latched to the man’s pulse as Washington reached into the man’s pants and pulled his cock out. Licking his lips, then the slit before pulling back and up to kiss the center man’s lips.

Dante moaned, bucking up into the hand that found its way around his cock. The cool metal of rings made him hiss, “Shit that’s cold.” He wound his fingers through either man’s hair, tugging them away from their places too far north and led them southwards. Led them down to his aching cock; standing proud and flushed from the trimmed mass of black curls. Their tongues met around the head of his cock, the wet sounds heard above the music as they made-out around the man’s cock.

Locus ground his teeth together, breath puffing out of his nose in a gush. One breath in, one breath out—repeat, repeat again.   _Focus on the car in front—apply the break, it’s a red light_. He glared at the minivan in front of him as the moans in backseat stilled and a light conversation was whispered between the three. He picked up on the topic of lack of condoms, then the brief argument that they _didn’t need them_. Not after Felix has been feed Washington his cum for the last couple of months— _if I did have something, you would’ve caught it from Wash by now._ And as much as Locus would’ve loved turning that argument back on Felix, it rang true. “I have lube in the glove box,” his attention was stolen again as Wash pushed off from the seat, finding the lever on the side of the front passenger seat and pushing it flat.

Locus snapped his attention from the blond rooting through the glove box, slamming on the breaks when the car in front of him got too close. He heard a chorus of complaints from the back, a pained groan as Wash removed his head from glove compartment with the container of lube in hand. “I found it,” he claimed, rubbing the crown of his head while tossing the... _water based lubricant_ back. Wash rolled onto his back, shimming out of both his pants and boxers before directing the other two to the seat that’ll be of most use to fuck him in. “This one, move right here.”

He tore his gaze away from the man’s wandering hands—up and down the inside of his thighs. Tugging on his cock, fondling his sack— _fuck,_ Locus glared at the first two letters of the licence plate in front of him like it was **AX** ’s fault. All that damn **AX** ’s fucking fault that he was stuck behind the wheel while his three lovers decided on fucking _right beside him_.

He blocked it out to the best of his abilities—the moans, the urging to hurry and fuck them, the slick sounds of fingers pressing in and working the other men open. Locus could’ve blocked it out; he could’ve if he didn’t feel the ring decorated hand wrapped around his wrist. Locus went willing, allowing his right hand go limp in the man’s grasp—wrapping his hand around Washington’s prick when he was deposited there. “Now you’re not left out,” Felix teased with a wink.

Locus huffed, turning his gaze from the man in the middle and returning it to the road. He kept his hold consistant as the moans grew—as the ball slapping fuckfest in the back seat stole his attention yet again. Washington whimpered, he pleaded—begging for Locus to make him cum. The man snorted, “If you want to cum you work for it.”

He was _driving_. And as much as he’d like to join in, he would rather have his way with the blond on his own time and in a bed. Locus held no qualm in denying the man his release his cries grew louder, his breath clenching—his voice cracking out into a sob when Locus clenched his hand around the base of his cock just before the man could spill. “Locus—Locus please,” he whimpered, shivering when Felix’s cum splashed against his insides.

“You cum when I do,” the drive replied. Hand still firmly around the base of his cock until the others pulled out, slipping their clothes back into place. “Dress him and make sure he doesn’t cum,” he handed the blond off to the pair, quickly adjusting his hard-on into a slightly more comfortable position.

Only a half an hour left.


	27. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stopped at Wash's place to grab the cats and have some fun before going back to Locus' only to remember the mess that still awaited them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait. I've been in and out of the hospital and doctor's office and thus haven't really been able to write as much. But this is a more filler chapter but i'm writing action next chapter. We gotta have the boys go make money.

Washington’s shouts of shock as Locus hauled him from the vehicle had the other two scampering and laughing behind them as Locus bounded up the stairs to Washington’s apartment. The surrounding neighbours all the way up the stairwell could no doubt hear the racket the four were making. “Go tell Jill that we’re back, she lives right above me!” Washington was able to get out before Locus threw open the landing door open for his floor and stroll, with an almighty purpose (and boner), to his door without hesitation even as Mrs. Cheng poked her head out and snickered at the couple before closing the door.

Wash could swear he heard the woman call, “have fun you two!” But… well, he never knew with those ladies. Jill swore that Mrs. Cheng’s husband had been Yakuza and the fact that he married a Chinese woman was always a talked about thing in their day—or so Jill had relayed. How that woman got her information was beyond him but she was right about Madam Vivienne down on the third floor being Mafia, so he trusted her with the info on Mrs. Cheng.

Felix and Dante both raised their brow at the other, staring at the landing door that Locus and Washington had just escaped down in what only could be described as _with a frown_. That’s correct, they frowned, nearly pouting at each other as they slowly made their way up to the next landing. “Lo seems to have his testis in a twist,” Dante held the door open for the smaller man, bending himself into a dramatic bow and all.

Felix snorted, “Well that would only make watching Locus fuck blondie all the better, right? I mean, give me awhile longer and I’ll take him on but sometimes you gotta let a guy have a little fun,” he tossed a wink over his shoulder and Dante crowded up against his back, nipping his earlobe and dodging the punch the man swung at him. “Hey, none of that. Don’t get all grabby just ‘cause Wash and I decided to get freaky with you in the car. We’re in Los Santos again, D, gotta keep up appearances.”

That was a reminder to himself as well; no batting the eyelashes or puckering his lips in public. Los Santos held gangs, lots and lots of gangs, and the vast majority of them hated them—he didn’t want to drag this _relationship_ of his into any mess; the one he had with Washington had a line in the sand while the others were still… being decided. He didn’t feel the same that he did about them all like he did with Washington and even that was still primarily curiosity—he was only _truly_ able to pick apart that emotion. But with Locus, his relationship with Locus would primarily (and _constantly_ ) be one fit for a friend. A best friend. He couldn’t exactly call him his brother, not when he was fucking him. And Dante was still… well, Dante was fun.

Felix rather never look into this mess of a relationship and piece together what the fuck they really were to each other. Sure they all went around pointing to Washington and claiming to be Washington’s boyfriends, yet they still fucked each other. And well, maybe Felix was starting to enjoy the massive cuddle pile Wash would pull them into in bed or on the couch.

If anything… if anything Washington was the glue that made them stick. He was the gooey romantic filling that claimed to love these three killers and got them to play the domestic life with him. And while, yes, yes things weren’t healthy—not in comparison to all the other bullshit Felix has seen, it could be a hell of a lot worse. It could be worse and damn it, damn it all he’ll be better if it meant Wash would smile (or blush) at him like he made the fucking moon.

Dante’s hip knocked against his, jolting him out of his thought and the gestured to the door to the left. “This is it. You doing alright?” He jerked out of his musing, sighing heavily before running a hand through his hair and nodding. Here he was thinking of Washington like some idiot musing in his bed at ass-o’-fucking-clock at night rather than keeping his head in the present. This was Los Santos, no more Seattle and no more romantic little get away.

Dante stared at him as if expecting an explanation—he wasn’t going to get one. “A brain is for thinking, I was using it.” The man merely raised a brow all the higher, “I was thinking about the shit that needs to get done—or have you forgotten that Locus’ place got trashed?” Yeah, who’d forget that mess? It was a long day; the start of many long days afterwards. Maybe now that they were back home it would be better—maybe start out right.

Dante gave him that one; pleased with the explanation as he knocked on the door with his knuckles. He made an effort to start right in the peephole’s line of vision though all his muscle memory was screaming not to. The pair heard life stir on the other side of the door; movement, voices. A short conversation of who would get the door and who could it be before the diner chick opened the door with a smile. “Did Wash send you up?” She inquired, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder as she looked the men over before her.

“Yeah,” Felix forced his lips up into a smile. A smile that moved too much of his features—his nose, his cheeks, his eyes and forehead. He didn’t like this smile though it was one of his more innocent grins in his long and ever expanding repertoire. “Lo has him bit… _busy_ ,” it was funny how thin the walls in this place were, almost comical in how his words were punctuated with one of Washington’s loud moans coming from the apartment bellow.

Their eyes widened at the loud moans, the _screams_ of more. _“Fuck Locus! Oh god—ah! Oh, oh ri—unnnnnn!!”_ They could hear him clear as day. Like Washington was just in the room next to them instead of a whole floor beneath. Felix swallowed, glancing to Dante to finish his train of thought that was interrupted by… well, _Wash_ —his mouth, his voice. Felix wondered if they’d be able to hear him outside or not.

“Well, that’s for watching the cats and I think it’s time for us to go!” Dante took hold of Felix’s arm as Jill laughed, waving them off to go join or watch the fun downstairs. Felix caught a quick _‘I need to find a way to get him back for this’_ from the woman before the door was closed and Dante had led him half way down the hall.

-xx-

He wasn’t aware he was speaking, let alone _begging_ , until Locus pulled out and slapped his hand against his cheek. It stung; Wash moaned, “Locus… Locus please.” He spread his quivering knees apart further, reached back and pulling his cheeks apart. “Love please,” he pleaded with his lover. Sighing when the man slammed his cock back into him.

-xxx-

Dante chuckled, shaking his head at the situation—Locus broke the bed. _He broke the bed!_ How does one fuck someone so hard that they snap the legs off the bed? It doesn’t matter if the bed was ‘cheap’ (as Wash puts it), but damn. DAMN!

Felix let out a low whistle, licking his finger and adding an imaginary tally mark. “That’s another thing to add to the long and growing list of shit we need to buy now. Seems like we’re going to need to start running jobs again.” Felix glanced towards the dark man sitting on the arm of the couch scratching the top of Ebony’s head as Wash limped from his room with a large pout on his lips; Felix snickered at him. “Have a bumpy ride, babe?”

The blond groaned, flipping him off as he ignored the three taking up his couch to walk into his kitchen and pull out his pain killers. Locus hadn’t bothered with undressing him with the typical patience but instead he tore the shirt from his back, the fabric in tatters along with his damn broken bed frame and torn sheets—though the sheets were because of Washington, though he could still blame Locus for that.

He had hunted for some clothes to cover his new _artwork_ decorating his body, but most of his clothes were at either Locus’ place or thrown about on the floor of either Dante’s place or Felix’s. So, Wash was forced to break out the sweaters. He wore a loose green sweater that did nothing to hide the marks on his neck and chest. Bites and hickies. It was possessive, it was painful looking—Wash _loved_ it. He really shouldn’t, he shouldn’t condone it either but he loved it all the same.

Tigra mewled, following after her owner proudly. She slid between his legs, stretching as far as she could up the counter as he downed his medication before taking hold of her and cuddling her in his arms. Wash glared at his three partners, glowering when Dante and Felix’s grin grew larger at the sight of his glower. “Oh stop being smug!” he snorted leaning against the door frame, scratching Tigra’s belly absently as she purred like a boat’s motor.

Felix grinned, “Nah, you’re glowing. Can’t really stop myself.”

They had returned when the bed went _snap_. Today had been a series of excellent timing; the door opened right in the middle of a loud wail of _“LOC—AHHHHHH!”_ and at that moment the bed went _slam_. The bedroom growing silent as Dante and he made a run to the door. Throwing it open only to see the bed about two feet away from the wall on only one remaining leg. Though, the sex hair that both Locus and Washington were sporting was… talented. The sheer volume Wash had pumped into the right side of Locus’ hair line could be compared to the prime of the 80’s.

Washington groaned, rolling his up to the ceiling. “Oh my fucking god, just… let’s get out of here before _we_ ,” and by that he glared pointedly at Locus, “break anything else.” Locus huffed, rolling his eyes at his love’s complaining.

-xxxx-

The television was still missing from the wall, the chairs and tables still absent and the open spaces lacked the comfort of the objects before. It looked… _off_ ; it wasn’t the same apartment they had loved before. “I need to get you a new coffee table,” Felix mused as Washington went about freeing his cats back into the apartment. Tigra tore out of the crate as fast as her still cast leg would allow.

Dante leaned against the back of the couch, “the TV needs to be put up.” He tapped the box holding the replacement television that Locus had gone and bought before Wash whisked them away to Seattle.

Locus rolled his eyes, holding his arms out and gesturing to the rest of the room—the furniture and the lack thereof. “Walls, the kitchen,” Locus sighed, finally dropped the duffle bags he had been carrying at his feet. The four glanced around the room and made a mental note of all the stuff. There was lamps to buy and then furniture to purchase and assemble.

Washington shook his head, “I’ll start making a list.” He slipped away to hunt down a pad of paper and a pen. He found a pad stuck to the side of the fridge and a pen on top of the appliance, returning to his lovers the blond rounded the couch a gestured for them to begin dictating.

“We put up the TV,” Washington spoke, writing down the first point.

“Coffee table, groceries, plates and glasses.” Dante ticked off the points on his fingers, remember how much glass he and Wash had cleaned up that night.

“Patching the walls, new dinning set. Fix the kitchen cabinet,” Locus ran a hand through his hair. Just the thought of all of it seized a twitch of anxiety in his heart. He had prided himself and his home and now he was here and it was… it wasn’t what he loved anymore. It felt lacking, it felt like it was missing a large part.

Felix leaned against his side, “we’ll fix your place again.” His whispered promise helped calm his nerves.

Wash marked their point down, throwing some of his own points in as the list grew. Ignoring the three men leaning into his space to glower down at the very long and _very expensive_ list. “For fucks sake,” Dante cursed at it. Locus started mentally calculating the price of these _things_.

“I’ll start looking for jobs,” Felix groaned, pulling out his phone and thumping through his messages—through the contacts. He was looking for jobs that only needed two to three people; he didn’t really want Wash to be involved unless absolutely necessary. Was it wrong of him to want to keep Wash safe? Was it wrong of him to not want Wash to see the side of them that seeped through when they dove into this life?

Wash held the finished list up and Locus took it from him.  


	28. Emperor's New Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mercenaries are back to their normal mess. Back to the killing, the stealing. Back to the guns and violence and sending a message. Felix and Locus were back on the streets after their rumored "honeymoon with a blond haired man". Dante is back to working on favors of old friends and gang mates. And Wash... well, he's doing good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:: Blood, violence and minor character death.

**_Kill everyone inside._ **

**_19919\. Off Tug St._ **

Felix chewed the gum in his mouth, tapping out a message to another conversation he was having—another job that they had to go to after this one. Locus looked to his partner and Felix rolled his eyes and shook the phone in his hand. “Found another one; rival gang ‘causing trouble. Get in, slaughter all, and get out.”

Locus smirked, “by when?”

Felix shrugged, “we can swing by tomorrow and get it done. Maybe tonight if the drug run goes quick enough.” Then they’d go back home and see what Wash was busying himself with now that all three of them were out and about again on jobs. Dante had been hired on as a getaway driver for the night—the cut that he was getting wasn’t the best, but a friend had needed a favour and Dante was good on his promises.

“Accept it then,” they pulled up to the warehouse just as Felix fired off the acceptance reply to their new client and then checked over the information for the two jobs they were taking on that night. It really wasn’t anything big—small stuff compared to many of the other jobs they were used to taking on.

They parked the stolen car right in front of the warehouse their target was hiding in; neither cared about being discreet with this. They were ultimately only after one guy and while they were tipped that the dude had hired some help, they weren’t expecting much. Not when Felix pulled the gasoline jug from the backseat and grinned something fierce at the prospect that came with their client’s contract. _Make a message_ —oh Felix was going to leave a message alright.

Locus slipped out from the car, nose up into the slight breeze. They were close to the water, the salt heavy in their nostrils almost strong enough to mask the stench of rot and garbage. Almost. Felix plucked the semi-automatic assault rifle from the backseat, grin growing when Locus handed him a machete. They traded; Locus hand a shottie and the assault rifle and Felix carried the machete and gasoline.

Felix _skipped_ towards the doors, pushing the large sliding door open and Locus grabbed point. Shotgun strapped to his back and rifle raised even, Locus exhaled heavily before firing a two burst volley towards the un-expecting targets. “Yoohoo!” Came Felix’s singsong-like tone as he skipped in through the opening behind Locus. He twirled the machete slowly in his hand as he ventured further in, ignoring the shouts and then the moans of pain as Locus took the collateral down.

“No one else needs to die, all I want is a man by the name of Simon Ryder. Simon Ryder, where are you?” Felix grinned, setting the container down and twirling his blade again. There were four men left standing and Locus tilted his head curiously at them, waiting to see what the consensus. Two of the men dropped their weapons to the floor, and Locus waved them off.

“YOU FILTHLY TURNCOATS!” Ryder spat at the backs of the two hired goons.

Felix tsked, “Now now Ryder, they’re making the wiser choice. Who in their right mind would rather die here than live another day? I would leave too,” Felix nodded towards his partner and Locus shot the other man. It was just the three of them now and Felix shook his head. “You pissed off someone _bad_. See, our client doesn’t just want you dead but he wants you mutilated, embarrassed. You’re going to be sending a message.”

Felix lunged forward, slashing at the man’s hand. The blade breached the skin, sinking in until it caught bone. Ryder cried out in pain, his gun falling to the warehouse floor in a shower of blood from his limp and half attached wrist. Felix pouted; upwards swings were never great for dismemberment, it went against gravity and the machete was a heavier blade type. Typically you swing down or in a side sweeping angle—you let the blade do the work. Felix sighed, “Sorry man. That was supposed to come all the way off." His pout morphed to another grin as he took hold of the bloody body part, “let me fix that” and tugged.

His initial cut had cut away most of the bone and cartilage that held the wrist together, only nerves and a few muscles kept it hanging. But not anymore. Ryder’s knees buckled under the pain, finally, and the man collapsed in his growing pool of blood. “Here, I’ll give you a choice. You can either burn alive or I can euthanize you first. Tick tock.”

Felix turned from the man, arms held out wide on either side as he waited for their target’s choice. A real rock and a hard spot decision. One that Felix already knew what _he’d_ personally choose. Drowning and burning alive was always a shitty way to go. Felix would rather going out with a bang—an explosion, a gun. Something quicker.

“Fu-fuck… fuck you!”

Felix rolled his eyes, “oh how dramatic. Real fucking original douchebag, say something more original... unique? Yeah, unique works. How about your grocery list? I need to pick some shit up anyways, maybe I’ll get something you suggest.” He turned back towards the collapsed man, tilting his head as he waited for the man’s decision. He did not answer him. “I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION!” Felix lashed out, striking the man with a swift kick to the ribs. He heard the crack of ribs as his steel toed boots did what they do best. “Make a decision before I start torturing you for shits and giggles.”

“Kill me then, just kill me.” Ryder’s sobs answered him and Felix shook his head. This man was pathetic; did he not have any pride? Any dignity? Where was his class? He disgusted Felix.

Felix’s lips curled up in disgust as he looked at the collapsed heap of a man before him. He made him sick. His face, eyes wet with tears, splotchy and snot covered as his nose dripped and ran. Felix tightened his grip on the blade at his side. He swung in a quick downward arc, the blade catching in the man’s neck before he pulled it out and repeated the action. It took him three swings to fully cleave through the man’s neck. “When was the last time I sharpened this thing?” He inquired, looking to his partner and the man shrugged.

Felix ran a hand over his blood splattered face. Ryder bled like a pig—spraying, oozing everywhere. It soaked the ground beneath Felix’s feet, it dripped from his chin and from the blade at his side. His clothes were even splattered with the stuff. “Anyways, let’s burn the body and hang this head up on a spike.”

-xx-

Busy. Busy. Busy.

That’s how Dante would describe the day if anyone asked. He wouldn’t go into detail about how fucking idiotic Manly’s so-called _Brains_ was in this little operation of theirs. It wasn’t even a big gig. He’s done bigger heists than this with a hell of a lot less mistakes.

The plan was to rob four different stores in the span of an hour. He heard them settle into position on the COM piece he had snuggly in his ear. All Dante was doing was driving—no firing unless necessary. And it worked; it did. Manly was good to go, Manly wasn’t the problem. They had worked together back in the time of Insurrection and they were close friends—best friends, dare he say. He had peeled out of the gas station without looking back. He then drove over to the convenient store down the next block, pulling up to the curb just as their man was running out the door with the money. It wasn’t until Dante was picking up Brains did thing grow bad.

The guy had grabbed the cops attention, he moved in for the money too early and was covering behind the corner by the time Dante and the two idiots in tow drove up. Dante had just sighed, mounting the curb and running the cops over without hesitation. Pulling the hand break, the car slid ‘round the corner. “Get the fuck in idiot, before backup gets here.” He wasn’t happy—he should’ve just shot him then.

The backup had arrived just as they were peeling away like a bat outta hell. Backup was three police cars that ended up calling air patrol and—and it was a mess. It was _busy_. It took him two hours to make sure they lost them and _make sure_ that he lost them. And even then he didn’t remove his _Scream_ (the movie) styled mask until he had hidden the car in the trailer park Manly had directed him to and slipped inside the trailer.

The two that he didn’t know laughed, high-fiving each other as Manly pulled a beer out of the fridge for himself and Dante. Dante threw the mask on the table before him before taking a seat at the table and glared at the two that had he had nicknamed Brains and Chatty. Though Brains had none. They looked young compared to him at least. Maybe twenty, couldn’t be older than twenty-one.

His phone started going off in his pocket, the song obnoxious and obviously fit for Felix. The man chose the preppy upbeat song that made him uncomfortable if he actually stopped to listen to it. _Sink your teeth into my fle—_ he answered before it could continue any further. And that’s the moment we stumble upon Dante. “What?”

Felix’s murder high gave his laughter a sick gleeful edge to it. _“Oh baby, come on don’t be like that!”_ He could hear a shotgun go off, then the soft melodic _tink-tink_ of the empty rounds falling to the floor. The other end grew quiet, Felix’s breathing in his ear. _“So,”_ he started again finally, _“Locus and I are done job two for the night and I need to wash the blood off before I go back to Wash. Deal went south and the fuckers were trying to pull a bitch move, but whatever.”_ Didn’t sound like whatever—sounded like Felix was enjoying himself too much from a drug deal gone wrong. _“From the GPS on your phone it says you’re in that shitty trailer park with those biker idiots that we killer about two years back, and Lo and I are like ten minutes away.”_

Dante sat back in his seat, rolling his eyes at the long roundabout way of _I’m-coming-over_ that he could’ve just stated. “You’re stopping by? Sure, just don’t bring the fuzz and take me with you. If I have to stay with these fuckers,” Manly chuckled at that as he went about counting out the money and setting aside the amount that he and Dante had agreed upon, “any longer I’ll fucking kill them.”

 _“Dealing with idiots?”_ Of course Felix would understand, he and Locus had their own mercenary underlings to do with.

“They young as fuck and act like fucking tools—not even the useful ones.” He snapped back, ignoring the complaints that his comment earned. _We’re twenty-one!_ Dante rolled his eyes, “shut the fuck up dumbass I’m not talking to you,” he snapped at the one he named Chatty. Manly set the stack of money in front of him wrapped in an elastic.

 _“Well, sounds fun. We’ll be there soon.”_ Both hung up without another word; Dante took the beer that Manly had offered him and finally took his first sip.

-xxx-

He was spoiled rotten with all the love and affection he had been leeching off of those three, and for the first day in a while Washington was alone. Just the blond and his cats, a container of putty and the nagging urge to fix the holes in the walls before Locus returned. It was the least he could do—if those three were pulling overtime and running grunt level jobs, then the least he could do was turn into a little trophy husband for a while.

Mittens and Ebony watched on with an unwavering attention as Wash sanded down the patch job he had filled earlier in the day. He had gotten the key to the storage space that Locus had down in the basement, and in that little adventure not only did he find a great number of fans to plug in to help with the drying process but…

Tigra’s bell chimed as she hobbled out of the kitchen with the tiny fluffy two month old kitten hot at her heels. His lovers may just kill him, so… well, the plan of fixing the walls didn’t originally start with a selfish thought but he may now be more motivated in completing the project now with the tiny one stumbling after Tigra like that. And Wash had named him and everything—he named him Patrick. Wash didn’t exactly want to call him patches, though he was patched with black and brown striped patches, so Patrick was the next step his brain had jumped to.

Wash smiled at his fluffy orange cat as she flopped onto the floor and let the little one climb all over her as Ebony and Mittens watched their human slave away at the wall. Wash glared at the two males watching him with large eyes, “don’t you rat your baby out now. He’s your baby so be nice—that means you don’t rat daddy out to Locus either.” The cats only blinked. “I’ll take your silence as agreement and hope that you take care of your baby with Tigra—don’t let her taint him now, she’s getting too close to Felix that I fear she’ll start plotting a way to enslave the other cats in the neighbourhood.”

He continues his work like that, talking to his audience of cats and sanding. The cats follow him to each patch he moves on to next; they at times meow back at him when he asks them questions though the know better than to move much closer to the blond as he works. Ebony had gone in once for a scritch behind his ear only to have to walk away as he sneezed up a storm.

-xxxx-

The door slammed open and a blood soaked man waltzed in followed by another who busied himself with grimacing down at his double barrel shotgun in disgust. He had just cleaned it and now he had a mixture of bodily fluid and body chunks coating it. “’Sup douchebags, I have a change of clothes and I’m using all your hot water. Suck my dick,” the smaller of the pair flipped the two men sitting at the table off before taking a right and going the only possible way. It wasn’t a large trailer, just a living room and kitchen mingling all close together while the other end held the bathroom and bedroom. As in singular.

“Nice to see you to, Felix!” Manly called to the man slamming the bathroom door closed.

Felix’s blood splattered face poked back out, “shut up Sleeveless. You gave my boy a shit job.” He slammed the door; his frustrations towards the situation that Dante had surrounded himself with clearly being shown by the lovely and dramatic Felix.

“I forgot that you got that one tied down to the same guy you’re seeing,” Manly shook his head, sipping at his third beer. Locus closed the door behind him with his foot, joining the other two at the table. He set the dirtied shotty in front of Dante before stealing the man’s half-finished beer and throwing it down.

“I was drinking that,” Dante raised a brow when the man set the bottle on the table before turning and grabbing a new one from the fridge. Locus handed him the new bottle, “well that works too,” he shook his head fondly.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Brains stood from his spot spread about the couch, his shoulders tense and lip curled up into a snarl.

Dante looked to his old friend, disbelief clear in the gaze he leveled him with. Manly sighed, “Locus and the other one is Felix.” Chatty’s eyes widened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. It seemed that this one had some knowledge of the life—good. Though Brain didn’t seem to grasp the importance of those two names; that would explain why Dante didn’t like him. He was nobody, a newbie. Green. “This is what happens when you lose a bet Gale,” he muttered darkly to himself.

Dante snorted; explains what Manly was doing with these assholes. Dante had seen his fair share of older members in different gangs or crime organizations take on new and up-‘n-coming talent. Teach them the ropes, see if they had a taste for the life. “You’re nobody if you don’t know those two mercenaries,” Dante explained for the other.

Locus rolled his shoulders, observing the two younger men. He tilted his head and scoffed; emerald green eyes looked to him, a mixture of pity and humor greeted him in the man’s expression. And Dante could admit that this was a moment that he’d allow the pity—how the fuck did he even manage to pull off a job with this fucking idiot in his car? Dante shrugged. “Has Washington contacted you?” the dark skinned man inquired, changing the topic now that the matter was exhausted.

Dante shook his head, “no. I told him I’d contact him later depending on how the job went.” Locus let out a sigh. “Why? What happened?” Locus shrugged with one shoulder, pulling out a phone that was not his own and tossed it to Dante. The man caught it with ease; the case was a bright orange with slate gray markings. Felix’s then. Opening the device was easy enough when the owner of said device didn’t give a shit about hiding his password from any of them.

**_Don’t be mad when you get home._ **

That’s all the message had read—Dante scrolled up in the conversation. Pointless chatter, dates and times for meet ups. It was all old stuff. Felix and Wash both preferring to have their conversations verbally rather than through text. Much the opposite than with Locus. “Huh,” Dante hummed as he pocketed the device without any thought. They all tended on going through each other’s shit to begin with—it was the nature of business and just their curiosity. They were all guilty of nosing through each other’s things.

Locus nodded.

-X-

Felix stood under the spray watching the red seem down the drain. His fingers tingled, his body jittered with energy. It felt good to be killing again—felt good making money. The 42.5K safely tucked away in his bag on the sink. He stood under the spray until the water ran clear; Felix didn’t bother with any shampoo or soap—he didn’t know nor care to know these people so he’d much rather not expose his body to anymore of their filth. Plus, why wash himself at a strangers place when he had a beautiful blond waiting for him at Locus’ apartment that would be more than willing to bathe him.

Turning off the shower, Felix stepped out of the tub with a shake of his head. Droplets splattering against everything around him: the toilet, the walls, his bag, the door. Nothing was safe from his absurd self-drying ways. He grabbed one of the random towels and used it to quickly wipe down his arms and legs so his clothing wouldn’t pose as much of an annoyance to slip on.

He dropped the towel to the pile of bloody clothing he left in front of the sink, digging through his duffle and pulling out the clothes that he needed. Getting dressed posed to be as annoying as he had assumed it to be, and the lack of boxers made him frown as he zipped up his tight skinny jeans and pulled what seemed to be one of Washington’s shirts over his head. “Fucking hell,” he stared at the design on his chest.

Now, every so often Felix steps out and disappears for an hour or two a day without really informing anyone of where he was going other than a shift quirt “I’m going out, be back in a bit.” Sometimes in that time Felix just goes to his apartment and fucks around in there for a bit, grabbing more clothes and dragging them over to Locus’ to stuff in his dresser. Sometimes Felix just goes out; if it’s late he’d go get a drink, or stop in to some of his informants and gather some new information. Though, Felix has not exactly been doing those other opinions a lot lately.

Lately Felix has been stopping in to the malls, the clothing stores that he enjoyed and… well, shopping. He wasn’t looking for things for himself. No, the things he was looking at wasn’t exactly his style but they were for Washington. If he was to be dating the man then he was going to make sure he _looked_ the part too. He was going to make sure the man looked fucking _hot_. And, so he might have also bought him a few cat themed clothing. It was too tempting to just ignore. But he never expected… well, this.

Felix groaned, zipping up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder as he slipped back into his boots. He left his soiled clothing with the towel and left the bathroom without bothering to flip of the light.

Locus had joined Manly and Dante at the kitchen table, the man beginning to clean his weapon before the blood and flesh could dry and settle. He ran a hand through his dripping wet hair, “let’s get the fuck outta here before Wash decides to adopt another cat.” His announcement had five set of eyes fall upon his form, and both Locus and Dante hone in on the shirt with amusement. “Oh shut the fuck up you’re just fucking jealous you can’t fit your fat selves in Washington’s clothes!”

Dante rolled his eyes, pushing his chair out as he stood. He ignored the comment—it was just Felix’s way of lashing out from embarrassment after all. “It was nice seeing you man,” he held his fist out, smiling when the man opposite to him knocked their fists together.

“I’ll let you know if I have something better than this for you,” Manly smirked, nodding to Locus as the man stood and grabbed his gun. Dante plucked the elastic wrapped money from the table and turned without another work with Locus and Felix on his heels. “Nice shirt, you fucking hipster!” He called to Felix just before he could slam the door closed. The smaller man flipped him off again.

-Xx-

A phone that was not his own rang in the bedroom. He padded his way from the dining room, down the hall and into the bedroom. He pulled open the nightstand on Locus’ side of the bed and tilted his head in confusion at the unfamiliar phone in the drawer. He answered it still.

_“Is this Locus or Felix?”_

“Neither,” Washington answered, “but I work for them. Are you hiring?” He kept it quick, short and to the point. There was no need to explain any more or any less than he has. This person didn’t need to know of their relationship.

_“I… yes. But I need to discuss these matters with your boss.”_

Washington rolled his eyes, sitting on the bed and resting his ankle on top of the other knee. “See, you must be new to this. You don’t want their number in your call history, you don’t want to be _seen_ talking to us. Now, as this is of some importance to contact these two, I suggest that you continue to discuss this business venture of yours with me.” Oh the nuisance of dealing with clients; Wash seldom had to deal with them back in Freelancer.

 _“There’s a document hidden on Paul Fernandez’s personal computer that I want. They’re throwing their annual ball this coming weekend and I want_ you _or your bosses too steal it for me.”_ The man on the other end bit out. Like the words were forced between his teeth.

Washington chuckled, “now why didn’t you say so?” He smiled at the tiny kitten stumbling into the room, biting back a laugh as Patrick fell onto his side when his tiny little paws slid on the hardwood.

_“I would rather discuss the delicate matters in person. How’s tomorrow at a bar called the Evening Star at 10PM sharp?”_

Wash leaned down, taking the little kitten in his hand. “Corner booth along the wall with the door. You sit with your back to the door.” Patrick began to purr in his hands, his little triangle-like tail sticking up proud and tall as Wash held him up to his face. “You’ll know us when you see us,” he hung up the phone without giving the man another chance to speak, leaving the phone on the stand.

-Xxx-

Together they made a grand total of 44.5K in one night, and that was a very good haul. It also helped that Felix had raided the pockets of the dead and it only helped to raise their total profit for the evening. Locus opened the front door, fingers holding the door out wide for the other two to slip in behind him without taking a door to the face. “So, the job tomorrow should wrap up the rest of the costs and possibly give us a little spending money afterwards to do whatever with.”

Dante kicked off his shoes by the door before continuing on into the apartment. His head turning from right to left as he swept his gaze over everything. The floors looked clean, the patchwork obviously new with the striking white spots in the paint. He poked his head in the kitchen and noticed that none of the cabinets lacked a door; the counters lacked the fresh fruit and typically decoration they normally housed.

“Looks like blondie was busy,” Felix whistled out, ducking under Dante’s arm and made his way into the kitchen. Pulling open one cupboard door after the other, Felix noted that while Wash had fixed the outside he hadn’t gotten to the point of refilling them with the glass wear (though he wasn’t the one that broke them in first place).

Locus ignored them, following the source of light at the end of the hallway he poked his head into his bedroom and frowned. He wasn’t there and the bathroom was dark and open; as well as the other doors that led to his study and spare bedroom. The second bathroom and mission room that was by the door didn’t seem to have been touched recently either. “Where is he?” he mumbled to himself as he returned back to the others.

“No, I don’t need— _ugh,_ fuck. Just… whatever!” The front door open and in entered Washington with an arm filled with groceries as he glowered down at his phone. He slipped his shoes from his feet, not yet noticing the added pairs of shoes alongside his as he slipped his phone back into his pocket and called out to her cats. Kissing the air, the cats seemed to appear from thin air at the call—their collars chiming as they jogged towards him.

Ebony meowed loudly up at him, “yes yes, I got the Doritos that you like to steal. And I got Patrick some milk and proper kitten food—he’s too young for your stu—” Wash trailed off when he saw the three men staring at him, Patrick’s small form wiggling in one of Dante’s large hands. “I found him in the basement and he followed me up!” Washington’s eyes blown wide as he looked to each one nervously.

“When I say ‘before Wash adopts another cat’ I don’t expect it to come _true_ ,” Felix threw his arms up in defeat, walking away from the situation. Not his to handle—he’ll leave Locus to the cat stuff. Plus, he needed to get out of this shirt before Washington noticed and he needed to _properly_ clean himself after his little blood bath.

The burned man held the cat up, leveled with his face. “He’s cute,” he admitted, looking to Locus for his input. Locus sighed, shoulders dropping before he reached out and plucked the tiny kitten from the other’s grasp.

Wash cleared his throat, “so… I also grabbed dinner if you want to eat?”


	29. Double O' Nothing, This isn't a Spy Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally written a part of this chapter as a side story for this back when I wasn't going to drabble into their everyday life (only focusing on key plot points). But I ultimately decided that I include this in the story when I thought to write their day-to-day situations to show not only their growing relationship but their own characters. 
> 
> These boys are as much as the characters that you see in the show but with the time to really dive further into them. Yes, the part of fanfiction writers is to take what has been made and not only shape it into something else but make it something uniquely their own as well. AUs are very very good for this as it shows that not only are they the characters we know and love but MORE than just that. We as writers can dive into different key points and pick apart a character and learn about them. 
> 
> Most of you know that already but now I'm just annoyed and felt like I really should explain. Humans in general aren't one dimensional. It isn't just black and white but shades of gray. We're a mixture of all these different things that shape and form our own distinct individual. So, as of chapter twenty-nine, the fact that I need to write this and say the following line is honestly very silly... but, here we go. 
> 
> If you don't like how I interpret these characters feel free to look to different authors, or even writing them yourself. I would honestly enjoy seeing how you write them and how you'd explore their story and their characterizations. But, if your dislike for my interpretations implore you to leave a comment, please either read the story in full (and not only take bits and pieces that you only wish to see) and leave a comment that allows me to not only better my story but my writing. I accept constructive criticism but it has to be constructive--not that "this is bad and you should feel bad" or "just write original stories". Because I do in fact write originals as well, and if you're interested in that I would gladly share. 
> 
> I'll like to apologize now for that lengthy message. My patience has been wearing thin as my health continues to decrease and the tests that I've been going for hasn't been showing anything. So, I've just recently begun going to a massage therapist to see if they can work something with my head so they could possibly help decrease my headaches (or just the pain of them). I have other specialist appointments scheduled but unfortunately the earliest time to go in was in March for those and now I'll be making appointments for an MRI and those take forever to get in for. 
> 
> But enough about that mess, thank you for enjoying my story so far and I hope with this newest chapter I have finally hit 100K words. Its always been a goal of mine (as well as a thought of this going to 57 chapters just so I can make that jokes). So thank you for being with me this far, and heres to maybe another 100K words! :3
> 
> [ShadowSheyla](http://shadowsheyla.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr
> 
> [8Track GTA mix #3](http://8tracks.com/shadowsheyla/tuna-sandwich-gta-au-mix-3)

-x-

 _“So why didn’t you mention this earlier?”_ Felix’s voice inquired in his phone’s earpiece as Wash nursed his beer in the far corner of the bar, far away from where their client waited. Wash had been there for an hour before the man in the cream suit arrived. He moved stiffly, posture straight as he marched to the booth that Washington had commanded him to take on the phone.

“You and Locus had to handle some business down in the airport district. I told D this morning though; plus, this way you two can’t say I don’t get to partake in the fun.” He brought the bottle to his lips and sipped at the bitter amber liquid. “As much as I’m willing to joke about playing house, you two dragged me back into this lifestyle so I want to remain in it now that I’m back in.”

Felix’s laughter deep, warming Washington’s gut as he drank in the sound. _“And here you were complaining about it before.”_ That was the truth; Wash had tried to slip back into a domestic, slow lifestyle and routine. But with this job, with the life of crime came the lessening of the dreams—his dissociation. He still had his days, he still had his nights where he’d jolt upright in bed and count backwards from a hundred before he’d be calm enough to lay back down and accept the comfort that his lovers’ touch would provide. But the moment of relieve was addicting and Wash liked being _busy_.

“Someone needs to make sure to keep you boys in line and I have threats and promises I can be using to manipulate you boys into working order,” Washington teased, chuckling at the click he heard in his ear. He was so familiar with the click of the man’s tongue and the different expressions it conveyed—he even noticed that Locus and Dante had started adopting the gesture (or had adopted it long ago) and used it in their normal day. “You know I wouldn’t use it unless absolutely necessary though. I love you too much to hang the thought of a sexless life over your head.”

 _“You are the devil. A sexy blond hair and white skinned devil—why in the hell do I even put up with you?”_ Felix chuckled back at him. The purr of an engine sounded around him, a clear sign that Locus and he were on their way to meet with the client. Dante and he had arrived a while ago; Dante took to playing pool while Wash parked his ass in a booth.

“Because you love me?” he tried, smiling when Felix only hummed in reply. He was pushing with that, he knew that. Though he couldn’t help it. He wanted to hear it, Locus had said it once late at night when Wash had to wiggle free from the mass of bodies tangled together to go to the washroom. He had kissed Wash’s ear when he had settled back into bed upon his return, whispering those three little words in his ear before Locus fell back to sleep.

 _“Locus says to inform you that we’re on our way… so, we’re on our way baby. Come say hi when we get seated.”_ He wanted Wash to box the man into the booth, stealing away the thought of any quick exist. _“Ciao,”_ he got the feeling that the man closed the conversation with a wink. That felt like a thing Felix would do; Wash pulled the phone away from his ear, frowning down at the device in his hand.

He slipped it back in his pocket, returning back to his beer and people watching.

Dante’s shoulders rolled as he stared down at the woman leaning flirtatiously against the pool table. Her long blond hair tucked over one of her shoulders, dark rimmed eyes batting up at the man as she held her beer bottle in her hand. Her nails were painted red, Wash noticed. She was very active. He smiled to himself when he saw Dante lean down towards her as she spoke, his brown eyes looking towards Washington for only a moment. It was cute how he thought that Washington cared.

He trusted them, and it wasn’t like flirting was something wrong. Flirting was fun, it could be completely harmless as well. But, it was also a skill that you should have in this lifestyle. The only thing that Washington would get mad about is if his lovers slept with someone else—or didn’t inform him that they had kissed another. Maybe Washington was just more open about it, maybe he just didn’t care or cared too much about larger things. Sure, if his lovers had kissed someone he might be annoyed or angry—he could’t exactly say how he’d feel for he had never experienced that situation.

The woman looked towards where he sat and he wiggled his fingers in a greeting. Her eyes widened, cheeks flustering as she glanced between Dante and Washington in shock. Wash quickly pushed out of his seat before she could cause a scene; sure, this state was seen as being _out there_ and _cool with the gays_ but you never know. Wash couldn’t afford any fuck ups, not when he had set up this gig.

If this went well then maybe he’d start putting out some feeler, start throwing around his name. If Felix and Locus agreed to this job then maybe he’d start introducing himself as Washington the Freelancer again—not Wash. Maybe David Washington though… maybe. It had a nice ring to it though.

He slid up next to the pair, “hello.” Dante looked to him with his own blush creeping up along his unscarred cheek.

The woman shook her head, lips pulling up in amusement. “I heard the rumors about a blond who went and got the attention of both Felix and Locus but I never really connected it to you,” her words made Washington pause, his eyes narrow as he took her in. She looked familiar if he tilted his head just so. “We met briefly, but it doesn’t matter,” she waved the situation off, “my name is Angelia though I’ve been known to use the name Girlie from my time back in the Insurrection.”

Wash’s eyes widened and he looked to Dante for an explanation. “She’s heard that we’re here scoping out our client and decided to flirt it up with me,” he raised a brow down at the blonde. “What did you call it? _Catching up on old times_?”

Wash cleared his throat—and here he thought… it didn’t matter. _Shit_. Girlie brought the bottle up to her lips, sipping at the contents before her smile returned in full. “I’m surprised you got Sharky here to play nice with others when it comes with sex and romance,” she waggled her brows at the dark haired man, “you never used to be so open minded to multiple partners before.”

Dante’s cheeks darkened anew, “shuttahp.”

“It’s a learning process for all of us,” Wash answered truthfully. “Not exactly the healthiest at times, but it could be worse and it’s getting better,” Washington shrugged, “that’s all you can really ask for.”

Girlie nodded sagely, “given the lifestyle too.” Coming from a woman who seemed to have had relationships of a similar taste—or so her tone led him to believe. Dante reset the balls, standing tall beside the table. Girlie’s smirk return, “oh so you’re waiting for _me_ now. Huh; just for that I’m going to kick your ass and you’re going to buy my next two beers.”

-xx-

Felix fell into the booth, smirking at the man who startled and began to panic when Locus took the seat beside their client rather than beside his partner. “Vince Jameson—”

“Johnson,” their client corrected, licking at his lips nervously.

Felix’s pierced brow arched at the nerve of the cream wearing rich _bastard_. “Jameson, Johnson. You rich white people all have similar names,” he rolled his eyes. He leaned in, elbows digging into the tabletop as Locus gestured to barkeep to give them their usual. “So I heard you have a job so shoot. Go into the details.”

The man’s eyes lit up in excitement, “you’re taking it?”

Felix snickered as Locus snorted; the man was so obviously new, so _green_ that it was adorable. “No. We’re not taking anything until you explain your expectations,” Locus informed. Felix and he didn’t take jobs they didn’t know—that was grunt work, it was below their pay grade.

Their drinks came with a lovely blond; Felix seemed to purr as the blond slipped into the seat beside him and Locus reached for his drink. He might just need it now if he’s to life through their client tensing and jumping at any hint of _change_ in their presence. “Hello sweetheart, how was your company? I hope no one bothered you.” Felix nuzzled the man’s scarred jaw, nipping at the pale flesh and earning a shift kick to the shin by Locus. “Ow!” he hissed, glaring at the man smirking over the lip of his whiskey glass.

Vince seemed to gather himself enough to curl a lip up at the blond, “this is a private conversation.” He hissed; _ooh_ , Locus was enjoying the mirroring arch of both Washington and Felix’s brow as they stared at the man coolly.

“I’m well aware of that, _sir_.” His reply came with poison seeping into his tone. It chilled the air, dripped from his tongue as he continued. “But you wouldn’t have a meeting with these two if not for me so watch your tongue or I will remove it.” Felix whistled, fanning himself upon their lover’s threat.

“Don’t do that baby, when you get all nasty it makes me all hot and bothered,” Felix grinned. All teeth and glint of his eyes as he glanced at the blond through the hair falling into his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to do his hair up after his shower that afternoon it seems. He had just turned on the water for it when Washington slipped out of the apartment to start making his way to the bar. He snapped his fingers towards Mr. Johnson, “chop chop. Let’s get to the job before I decide to just leave.”

Vince Johnson swallowed thickly before opening his mouth to begin his explanation.

-xxx-

Locus adjusted the collar of his suit, fixing his tie as his licks his teeth in the mirror. His rich brown hair slicked back and the foundation over his scars artfully done. He flicked his suit jacket back and settles with his hands over his hips as he checked his appearance over once more.

He looked good; it’s been a long time since he was able to dress up like this. A three piece suit—tailored for him, pressed and ready to be worn for this latest job. And these  _shoes_ , shit Locus always did understand the need for comfortable and classy footwear but it was just something about the freshly polished shine and squeak as he moved.

He’d still insult Felix for his love and over abundant amount of footwear; that wouldn’t change. But there was a reason for all of this—he went over it again and again in his head. He couldn’t forget about this now; not because he was working with Wash, not because he was in this suit. He couldn’t afford a slip up.

There was a party being held at the Fernandez Manor; it was one of the biggest events in the social elite circle of Los Santos and the four of them were hired to attend this event and steal from one Paul Fernandez. Well, Felix and Dante would be the ones who’d sneak into the event and steal all that information hidden away on a laptop that’ll be housed up in the man’s study. Washington and Locus on the other hand would attend in their suits and ties with hidden weapons and microphones and mingle—flirt up with the guests and make sure Paul doesn’t leave the party.

It was all so very  _James Bond_.

Locus raised a brow at his own reflection, glancing towards the door and figured... well,  _fuck it_. He nodded to himself and the suit jacket was pulled away even further to flash a quick glance of his pistol holster. “What do you want?” he grinned and jutted his chin out at his reflection.

The man in the mirror pursed his lips, head lifting all the higher in a challenge.

“Think you’re any match for me?” Locus barred his teeth and pulled his gun from his holster. He spun the weapon on his finger and with a grin he glanced over his shoulder in the mirror. Locus choked and the gun slipped from his finger. He fumbled with it, catching it right before it could go clattering to the floor.

Washington bit his knuckles at the man in the suit.

“You saw nothing,” he quickly holstered his weapon with a flush creeping up his neck. He adjusted his jacket again, quickly turned on his heel and towards the snickering blond with brushed back blond hair and his scars on full display.

They had come up with a logical explanation for if (read: when) anyone would inquire about it. He was in the military for six years, he did a tour overseas where he was met with resistance and his platoon was killed and he was injured. Washington would go by the name of Phillip and he was invited to this  _event_  because of his boss, Vince Johnson (who just so happened to be their actual client), and depending on how he  _behaved_  he’d get a promotion.

At least, that’s the story that they had come up with that and was ultimately settling with.

Wash took Locus’ hand and pulled him down for a quick kiss.

It’s still so new, the four of them in a  _relationship_ —an actual functioning relationship. All because of this stubborn man. It was difficult, it was still difficult. Locus knew that he could get possessive over Washington, knew he got into moods where he didn’t  _want_  to share. It was still so extremely new; fragile but  _working_ —they were working on getting better.

Locus ran his hand down the back of Wash’s suit jacket and grabbed a handful of that beautiful freckled ass. “I wonder if we’d have time to,” he squeezed the black suit pants and raised a brow in question.

Wash shook his head, “Felix and D are already waiting.” Locus can feel the phone buzz against his chest as a new text message arrived. Wash rolled those gray-blue eyes of his and pulled him down for another quick kiss. “Ready to go woo all those rich married ladies?”

Locus pulled a groan and bit his tongue visibly. Flirting with women was never his strong point. That’s Felix’s speciality… and now Washington’s as well.

-xxxx-

Felix pulled himself up onto the counter as Dante went about equipping the last of his gear. Dressed in the most over-the-top thief-wear he could think of. They looked like they belonged in a classical movie, or at least a very cliché porno. Black pants and a black long sleeved shirt—he was willing to bet that the masks they had in the car were ski masks to go with the look.

“I feel like I should be starring in a fucking porno,” Felix scoffed, accepting the silenced pistol and holstering it in the hostler hugging his ribs. They weren’t going to be using live ammunition, not primarily. They had sleep darts, vials of _something_ that Felix didn’t care to memorize (just stick and inject the bad guy), and of course he had his many knives.

“You’re only _just_ feeling this?” Dante teased, tossing a smirk over his shoulder to the smaller man.

Felix rolled his eyes.

-X-

They pinned on the one-way microphones hidden under their suit collars and quickly brushed themselves down one more time as they were leaving the car. “Please refrain from gathering a following of women, you’re here on business,” the pair stepped into the stunning mansion.

Wash grinned at his partner, “don’t be jealous Love; Felix is most likely laughing at your expense.” He winked and took towards the ballroom where the main hosts of guests were to be gathering.

Wash’s phone buzzed in the front pocket of his pants.

Locus took the offered champagne with a small, political smile and entered after his blond haired partner. He had only been a second or two behind the man and Washington had already swept a woman up and towards the dance floor.

“Damn it Washington,” Locus mumbled bringing the glass to his lips. Locus swept his gaze over the gathering of people not dancing and spotted their employer and his wife. Why was it that he was the one that had to do this part of the job?

Oh yes, because Felix’s piercings gave him away and Dante’s burns and scars.

Locus’ tight lipped smile pulled up all the more as he shook Vince Johnson’s hand, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.” He released the man’s hand and brought Mrs. Johnson’s hand to his lips and pecking her knuckles. “And you’re looking stunning tonight ma’am.”

The woman flushed, “oh you! Please just call me Veronica,” she brought her hand to her chest and Locus could swear that her whole body was flushed as she took him in. Her husband’s eyes narrowed at Locus, under the lustful glance that she was giving him. He almost felt like rubbing this moment in Felix’s face;  _you couldn’t seduce a woman_ , Locus only wished to send him this very image right now.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” Johnson’s eyes narrow as he wraps an arm around his wife’s waist, drawing her against his side.

“Your  _employee_ , Philip requested that I attend this event with him.” Johnson’s eyes widen and his posture quickly changed. He licked his lips and glanced around the room for this  _Philip_  man. “He’s making his rounds at the moment. Philip does have a way of befriending a room; he’d make a great asset to your team.”

Speaking of the devil always tends to summon him, and Washington was no different. A devil of his own dressed in white flesh speckled with too many freckles to count and wheat blond hair. “Mr. Johnson,” Washington grinned patting the hand of the woman he had on his arm. “It’s a pleasure to see you again sir, and I have to thank you again for the opportunity.”

The woman on Washington’s arm leaned forward and patted the man’s arm, “it’s fantastic to hear that you’ve taken in a war veteran and offered him a job at your company.” The woman tightened her hold on Wash’s arm as she smiled, “Daddy would be happy to hear that.”

And Locus could see it now; the typical Fernandez nose and fully bottom lip, her mother’s honey eyes. Washington went out and plucked out Fernandez’ youngest daughter, and that look that Washington was giving him told Locus that he knew already.  _That son of a bitch,_  he wanted to click his tongue against the back of his teeth but thought better of it.

If they could find a way to get Fernandez’ attention and keep it, it would make the other two move around in the man’s office all the easier.

Locus brought his champagne up to his lips and took another sip. The four fell into a conversation around him as he eyed the room for their target; he and his wife were still in the room and the woman was gesturing towards Washington.

“So you’ve never told me,” the young Fernandez woman batted her eyes up at the blond, “were those scars from your years of service?” Locus frowned behind his glass when the woman’s parents began to  _glide_  their way towards them.

He drowned the last of his beverage before squeezing Wash’s arm rolling his head to the side and nodding once behind them. Washington glanced in that direction, catching onto whom was making their way towards them. “Please excuse me, it’s been a pleasure speaking to you,” and Locus quickly slipped away before Fernandez and his wife could arrive.

“Try not to step on any toes,” Wash’s grinning voice following him as he slipped into the crowd.

-Xx-

Felix held the flashlight steady as Dante kneeled before the door leading to, what he could only assume was, the study. And in extension their prize. He hated jobs that didn’t just involve get in and get out not dead tactics. Locus was the one who was good at the sneaky shit, Felix was the one good and playing it up for the people. So, it was funny when Locus had to go in with Wash in the more… _people oriented_ part of the mission. Something about Felix not looking like someone who’d fit in— _Wash_ didn’t look like he fit in but blondie got the cover story.

This sneaky shit was boring! Sure, the fact that he got to listen in on Locus absolutely being the most socially awkward individual Felix has had the _pleasure_ of meeting was… well, it was embarrassing and horrible but still fucking fantastic at the same time. Though on the other hand Washington’s smooth as silk voice buttering up all those rich pricks was enough to warrant Felix pondering over how to get the blond to use that tone when he fucks him next.

“I swear I need to record Locus during this moment and just torture him when he’s being a douche by making him listen to this night.” Felix snickered to himself as Dante pushed open the door and entered the study without any added difficulty. From there it was all a matter of sticking the USB into the port and letting their other hired help run their mess.

Felix kicked his feet up on the desk as Dante went about inserting the USB, “so I’m thinking beers after this at that little shitty hillbilly bar out in tracker-ville and Los Santos’ trailer park number 3.” The man rolled his eyes at the descriptors but agreed to the sound of beer. “I’m sure Locus is going to need all the booze he can get to forget this night,” Felix couldn’t help but tease as he heard a woman begin talking to Locus in his ear piece.

-Xxx-

Wash slipped from the Fernandez girl’s grasp when her friends had come over and begun to gush about the woman’s outfit. _Its designer_ , was the last thing Wash cared to hear before he was slipping out of the pile of perfume and large grins. He missed his grumpy and uncomfortable lover and his questionable, yet oddly hilarious one liners muttered too softly to be heard by others. Wash hadn’t gotten to experience any of that this evening; he had been too busy chatting and grinning and all these faces that meant nothing to him while Locus went about keeping watch.

“Phillip,” at the sound of his false name the blond man stiffened, turning to the woman who called his attention. Mrs. Fernandez was truly a lovely woman, Wash could see that their daughter took after her primarily. “It’s good to finally catch you alone,” the woman smiled, taking hold of his arm and guiding him away from the thick of the party.

“You were trying to catch me alone?” Wash couldn’t help but raise his brow, looking out towards the mass of people for Locus.

“He’s on the balcony, poor boy doesn’t handle crowds well. Does he?” They left the ballroom, slowly making their way to the large fountain the Fernandez had in their entry way. White marble shaped into two large swans, their necks tilted up towards the glass ceiling.

Washington swallowed, “not well. No. He’s not… well, he’s more of a private individual. Likes his books and his quiet.” He looked to the fountain, the lights under the water’s surface. It was lovely, though he never could understand why fountains were indoors. But it was not his place to question why they sought to have it in their home.

“The two of you make a lovely couple,” Washington tensed, eyes wide as he looked to the woman in shock. “Oh come now, if he wasn’t constantly looking to you while you were mingling it would’ve made sense with your brief interaction earlier in the evening. The two of you have the same look that my parents had, the same that I give my husband. Oh, what was the term? _Ah_ , yes! That _don’t you do something foolish_ look.”

Washington’s cheeks darkened, the blush spreading over his cheeks and to his ears. “I—”

The woman patted his arm, “my daughter seems to have become smitten with you so I feel I owe you a warning. My darling Brialla is a very stubborn woman, she will pursuit you. But she understands when she’s been beaten. So I implore you to be frank with her before she grows too fond.” Washington could only nod; there was nothing more he could do in that situation. It’s not like he’d ever see these people again in a personal situation like so.

It’s not like he _wanted_ to either.

-Xxxx-

Drinking beer at some dumb pub out in the middle of nowhere were two guys in suits and another two in dark long sleeved shirts and pants. They made an odd pair together as they took up a table in the back of the establishment, ignoring everyone else. The two in casualwear knocked the necks of their beer bottles together in good humor. “At least we get to see just how hot these two all dressed up,” Felix grinned leaning towards his other partners.

Washington’s ducked his head down, hiding the blunt force of his fluster from his lovers and Dante carried on with the conversation. “And got to experience just how socially awkward Locus truly is.” Dante grinned towards the dark skinned man dressed to the T.

Locus glowered, silently drinking from his bottle. He didn’t bother to reply to them, it wasn’t worth it. They wouldn’t stop; not when Felix snickered that certain way of his and Dante only waggled his brows back.


	30. Hello? Hello.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lift the gun and shoot.|

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a tiny wee chapter that I noticed I had sitting around. 
> 
> I'm currently writing a very very large Norkington + Murder Sandwich Oneshot for a friend. It was a holiday gift but it just keeps getting longer and longer. So, in an effort to make sure you all know I'm still alive... here! Have a tiny wee 1K chapter as I go back to that 12K+ oneshot that isn't even halfway done yet (heavy sigh). 
> 
> I'm so sorry for the long wait and such a small return. But I promise that oneshot will help make up for it. I've just been... down and not feeling all that great about writing rvb recently (or at least not posting rvb stuff lately).

Washington barred his teeth at the two women pointing the guns level with his head. _Bait them out_ ; yeah, sure.

Why did he even agree with Felix’s half-assed plan to begin with? Why the hell had _they_ (because Wash was just as much at fault as Felix) decided on waltzing on in without mentioning this little… _meeting_ Felix had scored with one of the gang bosses in the eastern part of Los Santos. Something about this woman gaining street cred with her gang of all women and Felix… _just so happened_ to wish to pop in for a casual visit.

Yeah, Wash just wanted to go home and make Locus read that book he started last night until he passes out on the man again. Maybe stuff his cold toes under Felix’s ass and laugh when he complains. At least they have a television up and working again; the dinning set is being delivered later that week along with the coffee table that Felix claims looks _perfect_.

“Hey now,” Wash raised a brow, “no need to get testy.” Holding his gun up in surrender as he slips the safety back on and drops it with a clatter by his foot. He closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath—that should’ve given Felix enough time to just slip in. That’s all Wash was supposed to be doing anyways.

 _Fight._ |

With one last exhale Wash opened his eyes; one of the women moved in to kick the fallen gun away from him. His body felt like it was underwater, reacting before he could tell himself no. He pulled the woman in by her wrist, slamming his forehead against hers with enough force to knock her out and leave his own head spinning.

 _Lift the gun and shoot._ |

The shot rang out before his vision cleared; the other woman dropped, blood blossoming from the bullet wound in her abdomen. _Shit_ , he swallowed. “I see you brought company with you Felix,” Wash followed the direction of the sound with an up tilt of his head, eyes locking into the two figures followed by three more in the cat walk running seemingly through the rafters of the building. “Next time you wish to stop by please call. Kimball, see him and his company out.”

Felix bounded down the flights of stairs with, the woman that Wash could assume was Kimball, trailing closely behind. Wash dropped the pillaged gun, replacing it with his own and quickly holstering it as Felix and Kimball closed the distance between them. The slightly smaller male slipped into the spot at Wash’s side with an apologetic look gleaming in his eyes as he spared a glance towards him. “You know the drill Felix,” Kimball sighed, Wash slipped his gaze from the woman and back to his lover. He didn’t like that, didn’t like the hint towards something else— _bang!_

His nerves flared, the action registering in his brain that he had gotten shot. Looking down, the blood blossomed through his shirt. His shoulder quickly pumping out blood as Wash numbly pressed a hand to the wound. That’s what you did when you got shot—you stopped the bleeding.

He was in shock, the pain not yet registering as Felix led him away from the gang consisting of solely women and back towards their vehicle. “They don’t trust men and it doesn’t matter if they struck a deal with them. One or more have to leave bleeding or dead.” Wash’s eyes ease close as he falls into the passenger seat without any further words.

 _Hurts. Why do we have to hurt?_ |

The voices are different than the others he’s used to. But they stem from somewhere—maybe they’re a part of him that he had never bothered listening to due to the other big personalities picking at his fragile mind. It was with that thought that the pain spiked at his mind, finally registering and pulling a hiss from his lips.

The pain pulls him in and out of focus, the same little voice whispering in his head. It turned slighter, pitched higher. Maybe it was a part of Alpha? Maybe it was a side of Epsilon too. He couldn’t figure it out, didn’t understand why of all time that it appeared. Maybe it was triggered from the pain? The stress?

“Wash,” Felix’s hand touched his face, pulling him out of his thoughts. Out of the pain swirling around his head. It’s not like he hasn’t gotten shot before, he’s had much worse than this! So why is he acting like a bitch? “We’re at the apartment babe, come on.” Felix slides out of his side of the vehicle with far too much ease. It pisses him off. Wash kicks the door open, stumbling out of the vehicle and righting himself on the sidewalk with his hand still holding his wound.

Felix falls into step beside him, hand pressed to the small of Wash’s back to guide him along. They were in a better side of town, Locus’ apartment was certainly nice enough to be classified for higher end living. And to think, an apartment complex like so was housing criminals—had seen so much blood and illegal merchandise that it’ll drive down the price of living in the whole complex.

Wash leans on Felix heavily when they enter the elevator, head resting against Felix’s and his hand still firmly clutching the bullet wound. “Almost home,” the smaller of the two mumbles, eyes focused on the digital numbers climbing higher. The elevator dinged, sliding open and the pair was off. Felix nearly carrying the man—it was just the arm, it was just the arm. He thought he got it to start clotting, why was the light starting to swirl.

Wash stumbled through the door, falling in a heap on the floor. “Locus! Grad the first aid!” Felix kneeled in front of him, assisting him in sitting up. He set his hand over the injury, taking Wash’s hand and peeking down to assess the injury. “Good news is that it’s not bleeding as heavily, though your shirt is absolutely disgusting.”

Wash blinked up at Felix’s face, glancing away and to the wall then the shoes, the floor. He blinked, confusion evident as his brain sluggishly attempted to process the situation. Dante’s head came into his peripheral, stealing his attention away from the shoes. He shot the man a confused twitch of his lips; no one, not even Wash, could figure out if it was a smile or not. “What mess did the runt get you in this time?”

Felix barred his teeth, “it’s just a little bullet wound to the arm! Kimball might have shot him in the foot or something if Wash didn’t shoot two of their girls.”

“They pointed their guns at me,” Wash mumbled, leaning back against his lover. Eyes growing heavy. Everything was exhausting. He felt hands lifting him from around his ribs, his un-injured arm hanging limp as he was carried. Carried to some unknown destination and deposited somewhere soft.

 


End file.
